The Stone Cries Out
by Anesther
Summary: In the back of my mind, I know it's inhumane, horrifying. Yet, to me, there's something beautiful about the way she falls. Dark. Cato's POV of The Caged Bird Sings
1. Kunzite

**AN: Hello everyone! MY INTERNET IS WORKING, YES. I'm currently still trying to figure out chapter 27 of TCBS but I'm sure I'll have it done later today or tomorrow. Well, many have been asking for Cato's side of the story for months and this will be his. Do note that not all events will go along with Katniss' chapters. Being in his head is already odd...**

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**If you create an act, you create a habit. If you create a habit, you create a character. If you create a character, you create a destiny. - Andre Maurois**

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_The Stone Cries Out_

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_Kunzite_

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I'm quite sure I was born bloodthirsty; or, at least, very violent, compared to most children.

I've been told that all my life: when I was born, my parents saw something great in me, that I will be able to survive whatever the world decides to throw at me. Maybe it's because I'm their only son; maybe it's because of our circumstances. But I know this: it's why they did unthinkable things to gain prowess in the world of gray we live in; why their ancestors forged their own names into the stones, carving out their places, making their thrones among the poor and the weak.

They did it. They managed to make it out unscathed and they swore to me that I would have the same advantage: I will be entrusted to the best mentors for battle. I will learn how to defend myself.

I was born a man for sacrifice—I will not die a child.

There is no room for the young and innocent here.

I walk into my home, finer than the other houses in District 2 but nowhere near as regal as the homes that are nestled in the place the Capitol deems as the Victor's Village. My mother has always dreamed of living there. I would catch her staring out the window, hair softly going down her back and she'd sigh a long wistful breath.

By the dawn tomorrow, it'll be time for the Reaping.

My entire family is thankful for the fact that I've never been called out in the four years since I became eligible for the Games. I've always been rather eager, almost frighteningly so to them, to participate but they all made me see the rationality of waiting until I was strong enough to win, not just on the Capitol's terms, but on my own.

I hold my favored sword in hand, clutching the hilt. It's comforting. I don't really understand what my instructors say when they tell me to use it as an extension of myself. Some kind of old teaching or something. All I know is that it's good for killing people; frankly, that's all I need to know. Mystical bullshit has never won in combat before and it's certainly not going to start now.

I lay upon my bed, staring at the ceiling, not thinking of anything.

A knock on my door pounds my head. I prop myself on my elbows, irritated.

"Yes?"

My grandmother, frail and small, pushes her face past the door. "May I come in?"

I nod, smiling a little.

She sits beside me, patting my hand as I lay back down.

"Are you getting anxious?"

"Nope."

She beams at me, "There's a boy,"

I smirk and she ruffles my hair good-naturedly.

They have total confidence in me and that's good. I feel perfectly confident in my own abilities. They've had sixteen years to beat any weakness out of me and to build up my strengths. I'll survive.

Dying is the last resort of those who refuse to cling to life. It's no one's fault but the one who dies.

I wait in the darkness, listening for virtually everything but, of course, nothing comes. It's always quiet here where I live. Not much life among people who live in dirty and solid mountains.

I get up and look out my window, down at the empty square where we'll all get together.

A grin spreads along my face as I get ready for the Reaping. I just feel so ready!

The shirt my mother picked out for me is peculiarly tight. I just think of it as an added bonus—it's taken years to get these muscles and if showing them off makes me a potential candidate then it's alright with me. It doesn't hurt either that I'm rather good-looking. We're all pretty grateful for that; the Capitol is a vain and collectively shallow city.

There are no traces of tears or sadness in the eyes and faces of my family. We said all we needed to last night at the farewell party they threw for me. By the standards of the district, it was extremely lavish and we enjoyed every bit of it. We all know that this is what I must do, and they're proud of me. I will make them prouder because I have to.

Giving me a kiss on the cheek, my mother straightens the collar of my shirt, both of which surprise me a little. I haven't been given either in a long time and I almost shrug her off, push her back; however, I decide to allow it.

Heading out together, I stand among the boys my age, some more fit than most. A boy next to me puffs out his chest, trying to appear impressive. Dark eyes glance at me and narrow, derisive. I cross my arms over my chest and ignore him, jutting out my chin. He looks at me for a while. Then his chest lowers, dejected.

Yeah, I thought not.

A man comes forward and presents the film of our nation, Panem. I daze out and look around at the other competitors for the spot in the Games. There are a lot more that are readily capable besides the moronic big shot next to me. This shouldn't be a concern to me but the amount is a little disconcerting. I have the full ability to fight; however, it doesn't mean that I may be the one to get the chance.

I come back in time to hear the girls being called out.

The females don't usually wait to be called out however it's rather quiet on their side of the line. I tilt my head back, checking out the area over there. Before the name on the slip of paper can be called, a girl with dark hair steps forward, small, with the walk of a predator. I almost cry out in cheer—it's Clove! I knew she'd go for it.

She walks up, shoulders squared and mouth set. I notice that she's shaking a little bit and I mentally slap her. She knows better than to show weakness. Perhaps I'm overreacting but we are televised and not all the people in the Capitol are so blind.

It comes to the men and the paper isn't even drawn.

My voice rings out with six others.

Ah, dammit.

"I volunteer for the Games!" it's the boy that stood next to me.

I roughly shove him aside, my stance ready, glaring at the Capitol citizen before me. "No, I do!"

I get pushed back by the same boy and my fist is clenched before I stagger a step back, my knuckles making a lovely crunching noise as they crush into his nose, red warmth spluttering onto my fingers. He falls backward, holding his nose and some tears leak out of his eyes. I snort.

There's no room for the weak here.

The other five continue to squabble and I immediately dart up the stage. A hand grips my right leg. I don't even turn around to look at them as my left foot collides with their fingers. I double check their grip will be loose by digging the heel of my shoe into their hand. They cry out.

I smirk, wide, triumphant, as I stand next to Clove. I glance at her and she winks.

She and I both knew who would get the spot.

No one bothers to stop either of us as we're declared the champions of District 2, the sound of my people ringing into my body, deafening my ears until it drowns out my fast beating heart. Excitement stirs.

There was no doubt in my mind that today is my day.

I'm not a child anymore.

I never was.


	2. Agate

**AN: WHOO-HOO. THANKS TO: cutie2boot4u, dreamsnhugs, Cato Lover 101, Lilac Alyssa Halliwell, The Giggling Gummy Bear12, sundragons9, pennamenotfound, Kjane2000, Maddie Rose, thepinkmartini, lionola, soccerstar4242, baristababy, Jawsome, micmic022, walking in the darkness, and any anon! I'm so glad it's going well for you all! This would've been up (now) a few days ago but my Internet is still heartless.**

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_Agate_

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I watch the scenery go past in a swift blur, this large ocean of green that doesn't glisten but rustle. I can almost hear the very leaves whoosh, while I stand perfectly still in my room.

Clove and I had already eaten, and we took care not to gorge ourselves. While there was plenty of food that I had never tasted before, arriving at the Capitol on a sick and overly fed stomach was not going to be useful.

It wouldn't be attractive either.

Sitting down on the bed, a little too soft to me, I recline back. Clove had gone off to do… whatever it is she does in her spare alone time. She and I are part of the same academy that trains the potential tributes of my district. She's incredibly skilled and lethal with her knives. She's always been fascinating to watch, with her stature and capability to make up for those shortcomings one would think of regarding her height.

She'll be a deadly opponent in the arena.

I don't worry.

My room darkens for the briefest of seconds and I rise from my bed, heading to the window. As we head out the tunnel, I see the faint light of the Capitol stretching out in front of my eyes. As it draws closer, my heart beats loudly. People below me wave frantically, trying to look at us.

My grin inside me is only a smirk outside, and I wave. The power of my hand is astounding—they react with such a profound thunder that their cheers vibrate in my ears.

They're practically eating out of my hand and I find it enjoyable. There's this godlike ability in my palm, my fingers stretching into something with lightning. They move and the people crackle. My grin finally comes out and I hear women cry.

I'm very much enjoying this.

Our escort comes to fetch Clove and I. She's already changed into clean clothes. I didn't bother since we would be heading to the building where they keep the Tributes.

Clove glances at me, her smirk in place, "So, you ready?"

"I was born ready, you know that. These people won't be able to handle it."

She laughs quietly, her slender shoulders trembling.

We wave at the citizens that pour out to greet us. A man calls out to Clove, telling her she's beautiful. She takes it all in stride but I know that she would've thrown a knife at him if she could have. She's not very… appreciative of such things. She's definitely pretty so it's not surprising but she only shows affection to her family, from what I've seen. And we tolerate each other, not just because we're in the same academy, but we're the only people we would know here from home.

Rather sentimental; she doesn't seem to mind it, it sounds as though she wants it, considering how she would always want to talk to me, so I'd let her. It doesn't hurt anything. Not yet, anyway.

We head to the second floor and we're told where our rooms are. Clove instantly heads to her room. I don't mind and go to mine. The room is refurbished incredibly well, with a tall ceiling and too many windows. There's a stench coming from me I don't like and head to the bathroom. There are too many fancy buttons, shining in the glisten of the water drops. I just let it flow over me and relax, pushing any thoughts from my mind.

Once I'm clean, I don a pair of pants, not bothering with a shirt. The satin sheets feel good on my skin. I let out a sigh. My fingers brush something and I glance to my right. A remote sits right near the foot of the bed. I grip and just stare, thinking. I press a button and watch the screen flicker on. I grimace at the sight of two women in an advertisement, finding it inane.

Then I find it. The recap of the Tributes, for the people who missed it; I watch them quietly. The boy and girl from District 1 can be useful. They're both strong, a little self-centered but who isn't slightly?

The tributes come and go, faces not worth remembering. They're people that need to be eliminated and that's all they are. The ones that are keeping me from being the Victor of my District…

That's why she's the first to catch my attention. She bursts into the flock of scared people, and she shouts into the air that she volunteers.

That in itself is impressive. I've never heard of the lower district, especially 12, to come forth and present themselves as candidates for being a Victor. Never.

She rushes forward and pulls the girl close, her sister from the way they hold on to each other, and another boy comes and takes her away, off the screen. The camera focuses in on her face as she walks to the stage, reminding me of a lamb for slaughter. But she keeps walking, her face collected and calm, though I can tell the blood is draining from her face. Her eyes are intense and they darken a hue into something I don't understand.

The woman in bright pink speaks and she asks for her name.

Her name is Katniss Everdeen.

Katniss Everdeen.

Huh.

The video continues to play and the boy comes up. He's definitely the frailer of the two, in the way he shakes, the fear evident in his face, compared to hers. She knows how to hide her emotions nicely. When they shake hands, his seems to stay a second longer than hers in the air. I brush it off as him needing someone to help him in this time. Most people don't see the true opportunity behind the whole Reaping. It'll bring good to one's district and hold a person's name up for years; lifetimes. There will always be people to remember.

The video begins to flare into the emblem of the Capitol, of our nation. My finger moves on its own and the film rewinds until it comes back onto her, standing on the stage, stance squared and her chin held high.

She's different.

I don't know how different. But she is.

This could either be a problem or an advantage.

Either way, she'll be dead and I'm sure I'll be the one to kill her.

I plan to win.


	3. Carnelian

**AN: THANKS TO: Kjane2000, Alis-May, thepinkmartini, lionola, soccerstar4242, S. Martz, sundragons9, abugsaunt, Beauty'sInTheEye, Mandy330, anyone who's added/reviewed before and my anon! Thanks for the support everyone! :D**

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_Carnelian_

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I get up before the sun, too riled up to get any decent sleep. It's not anxiety or dread, just a bundle of nerves that tip me onto an edge. It's a good edge; the kind that keeps me going through anything.

Clove is up as well, the regimen of home sticking to us. We watch as the staff enters our floor and they scurry about. They're not noticeable, even with all the coloring and the odd fetishes. They're well-trained, staying out of our way and keeping our place spotless and full.

We head to meet our stylists, Clove and I being led in separate directions.

The instant I walk into where my team will prep me up, I feel as though I'm walking into a condensed space for experimentation. The feeling is gone quick but it remains in my mind, residue I can't wipe off. When they come to start cleaning me, it's pretty calm, almost routine. It's not normal, of course, but I take this as a good sign.

I'm meant to be here.

They accommodate too. One of them got too close with a syringe. I've waited through their cleansing and harsh scrubbing. The needle doesn't bother me but their intentions do.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh," it says. I can't tell if it's a man or woman. It's androgynous to the extreme. "We're using this to remove wrinkles and any other unsightly marks,"

I only stare for a while. It only watches me stupidly and draws closer. I hold up my hand, "Back off,"

"But—"

"If he doesn't want the Botox injection, don't give it to him. It'll be his problem if no one thinks he's attractive,"

A woman comes up from behind; dressed in a ridiculously short skirt; face a bright blue, with her hair tied back until I think it'll rip off her skull. Her blouse is ruffled and this intensely bright orange.

I hate orange.

"You're my stylist,"

"And you're my… client. Yes, I'll be your stylist. I usually get the most prodigious groups,"

She says this with an air of superiority and looks at me expectedly, as though she should be familiar.

She is, in looks.

On the television, we usually referred to her as the uptight broad.

She clears her throat and breathes in, "Never mind formalities then. Let's go and get you ready for the opening ceremonies. Now… obviously you're arrogant, crude, and downright ignorant as well but you're very handsome so that should help you."

"The people here enjoy prideful people,"

She smiles an amused sneer, "I cannot argue with that. You'll be a favorite no problem. The problem right now is thinking of your outfit…"

"What do you have in mind?"

"So far, to play with a costume that will not only show off your physique but your attitude. I'm quite sure I have an idea now!"

I nod. She doesn't consult me on the details.

Good. She has her job. And I have mine.

Clove comes back into our complex with a scowl. She snorts as she plops on the couch across me.

"What happened to you? You look like crap." she asks.

"Nothing much to tell. Just went through the motions. You?"

"Ugh, I feel like I got rubbed with sandpaper,"

I laugh, "Well, you are a girl. I think they do more with you than with us,"

"Screw you, man," but she says this with a grin as she splays herself on the couch, twirling a knife in her hand.

The night falls soon and we head out to meet our stylists. They show us the garments we have to wear. They're shiny in the light overhead, a metallic gold that really reflects the surroundings.

"Exquisite aren't they?"

Clove nods, looking very pleased as she's hurried off to dress.

I nod too, a little less enthusiastic outside but I do have to admit—the woman knows what she's doing.

Once my helmet is donned, we're walked out to the chariot that will be pulled by our horses. Clove looks regal beside me and I know I look rather intimidating. This is good. We'll be getting attention and the more the better to win. Being the second ones out, it's not long until we're out, the people cheering, their roar deafening. Clove and I stand, side by side, but looking at either direction or the front, not even glancing at one another. We need to make it clear, to others and to ourselves, that when the time comes, if it should, we stand alone.

It's the way it'll always have to be.

Winning must be priority.

Our horses continue to trot until we're next to the chariot from District 1. All of us continue to look at the stands. Everyone is so loud. My heart quickens and I look around the area, not unnerved by the shattering amount of people that will, in two weeks, watch us fight to the death. They're excited and I'm ready to show them.

They seem to grow quiet for a moment. It's not too noticeable but it's there—the silent echo after an avalanche. Then it swells into a louder noise, breaking sound itself. I notice brightness in the screen, dancing reds. I turn and watch as fire comes closer, blazing behind two towers of black.

It's her! The girl from 12…

She waves to the people of the Capitol, catching a flower that fell to her. I notice that she and the boy are holding hands.

I stare at their hands for a minute.

It throws me a little off, though I'm not sure why.

Their chariot finally pulls up next to us, and the fire trail that licks at their bodies heats up my skin. Her fire flickers wildly on my armor. This brilliant orange, a burning sunset on my frame.

I watch President Snow come into view but I don't seem to hear him. Not really. It's my day. It's my moment. I'm finally here and I can't concentrate.

The fire is too distracting.

It's outshined us all.

She captivated them.

And, somehow, me.

She glances in my direction and I hold her stare before she looks away.

She's bested me.

I don't like it.

But I welcome the challenge.


	4. Chrysoprase

**AN: THANKS TO: thepinkmartini, soccerstar4242, Tally Jennifer Youngblood, 408934, ThaliaJacelynGrace, dancexallxnight, ForAslan, Beacher,** **EvilFaerie17, royalcounty92, anyone who's added/reviewed before and my anon!**

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_Chrysoprase_

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With the opening ceremonies now closed, I find myself looking at my ceiling, stark white with faint tinges of blue, probably from the moon outside more than from actual coloring. I can't seem to go to sleep. My brain refuses to shut off, wanting to take in every little detail of surroundings. The quiet is too much but welcoming in a way. I should be used to quiet now, considering how I grew up, although mountains could get rowdy. They'll just collapse when they want to.

Splat.

You're gone.

I roll over onto my stomach, the satin nice on my skin. It feels almost like water, cooling me inside out. I bury my face into the overstuffed pillow, shutting my eyes—

I see fire flame out fiercely—

I withdraw immediately, her image burned into my mind.

I can't shut my eyes. The darkness just further brightens that fire that fanned out behind her.

I rise and walk to the window, just staring out at the city that hustles through the motions. They have so much on their hands and yet they do the same mundane routines over and over. This never-ending cycle of just enjoying life's riches… is that a life at all? I wouldn't mind being waited on, not in the slightest.

The sun rises to greet me and I glare hostilely.

I've never been unable to sleep before.

My body is always under my control—everything about me is bound to my will and my will alone. Nothing usually makes my body break from routine. It's too grounded in foundations built to structure me into someone who can fight and be alert.

She ruined it all in one night.

I head to the bathroom and turn the shower on; making sure the water is colder than death.

There's too much fire raging in my mind.

I have to put the fire out.

I don't know how long I'm in there for but a knock penetrates my still thoughts.

"Cato, you need to get ready,"

They must've sent Clove to fetch me.

We've only seen our mentor once before the opening ceremonies and once afterward. Since we're from the Academy, our mentors aren't here to actually teach us anything about survival skills. They're here to remind us about certain tactics and techniques that we all learned from the Academy or in past Games based on observation, though the latter isn't usually done.

They're also here to remind us that we have always been the Victors. It's been that way for years.

We're going to win. We always do.

I head out of my room and go down the steps, grabbing an apple from a nearby tray, tossing it lightly from one hand to the other.

I hurl it into the air.

Clove's knife comes streaking through and penetrates it cleanly. It even breaks in half from the force.

"Were you aiming that at my head?" she asks, planting her hands on either side of her hips after she gets up from the couch where she'd been sitting.

"Maybe," I reply, picking up the two halves and tossing one of them to her.

She catches it deftly and takes a bite, smiling up at me. "You're lucky I only have one knife right now,"

"You're lucky we're not in the Games yet,"

Clove punches my shoulder; I punch her back.

We both sit on the couch, gnawing on the apple halves. Our stylists are eating at the table and neither invites us over to eat with them. It's not really that important to any of us to form any kind of bond. We're here to do what we came here to do.

Before they leave, they remind us that we're going to be escorted by them later to where the Training Center is located. We have to be there on time in order to know what we'll be learning. Clove and I grunt out acknowledgment.

As soon as they're gone, we look at each other and I grab another apple, throwing it high.

She smirks at me before her knife is released and the sound of it impacting through the core is nice.

Together, we play our little game.


	5. Marcasite

**AN: Second one today! Whoo! Making a little bit up for time. :3**

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_Marcasite_

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Suited up, we excitedly head out to the room where all the equipment is. We're one of the first ones here, deciding to go even earlier than the others. The ones in charge of teaching us don't mind that we're here and they allow us to explore.

Clove immediately heads to the collection of knives on display, touching one in particular with a crimson handle with an almost loving expression.

I head to the assortment of swords and javelins. I pick one sword up, a scimitar if I remember right. It whooshes through the air as I cut nothing, my mind imagining it slicing through an opponent.

"You're Cato, aren't you?"

I turn and see the girl from District 1 come up behind me, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders.

"Yeah,"

"I'm Glimmer,"

I nod before returning my attention to the sword in hand.

"You're good with swords?"

"I'm exceptionally adept with swords," I say.

She laughs and I wonder if it's forced. She seems genuine but I'm pretty good-looking so, who knows why she's actually talking with me. I know that usually, the Districts from 1, 2, and 4 team up together to outdo the ones from other Districts before taking one another down. It's actually a pretty splendid show since it's the best of the best fighting against one another.

I don't really want to pair up with anyone from the other districts. I already have the idea of killing Clove in my head. I don't like it but if that's what it's going to have to come to, I have to keep that in mind and so does she. We both know this. We don't want to get mixed up with other people. They're flesh and blood too, meaning they're vulnerable, and vulnerable people can betray you swiftly if you don't know them very well. Clove and I fight dirty, but not with each other. We have our own code that we follow for one another; however we don't have to give the same respect to other people in the Games.

But this girl looks at me expectedly, tilting her head to one side, staring at me with blue eyes.

She could be useful in the Games.

"Where's the boy from your district?"

"Marvel is looking at the spears on the other side of the room. I can introduce you to him if you want,"

"Not a bad idea," I say, walking with her to where the other tribute is.

Clove turns her head to look at me. I motion for her to follow me. She does so quickly, and she peers up at me. I indicate the direction of where the tributes from 1 were hanging out at. Clove sneers and I have to hold back a laugh.

"Marvel, this is Cato,"

The boy turns around to look at me. He looks me up and down and I do the same, assessing the opponent. It's natural. We are going to be fighting each other, eventually, so better to do this now.

"And you're Clove,"

"That's right," she says, eyeing both him and Glimmer carefully.

Marvel remains stoic while Glimmer looks at us all with this sardonic cheerfulness.

"You wanna have a go with the sword?" he asks me.

"If you're looking to die now, sure,"

He suddenly throws his head back, barking one short laugh. "You're funny. I think we're going to get along well, for the time being,"

"I bet," I reply, quirking a brow and grinning.

Clove shakes her head before turning around. "Hey, the losers are coming,"

I turn and look at the other Tributes come forth, all of them looking around the place with a sense of dread, with the exception of a few.

I look for the girl from 12 and see her enter with the boy. She just stands quietly, waiting for the instructor to begin.

I don't realize I'm walking back until the other three join me, asking my opinion about the other tributes.

"Not much competition."

"That boy from 11 is going to be difficult," Glimmer says.

"He'll probably be, but that just means the Games will be more interesting,"

They all nod.

The instructor is ready to begin and she begins to speak, telling us about the weapons, the several areas where we'll be learning our survival skills. She stresses out the importance of knowing how to live in harsh conditions, dying from natural causes, blah, blah, blah.

I shouldn't shrug it off so quickly but I'm not worried about this.

She dismisses us and I head back to the swords, surveying the selection. I had put the scimitar back and pick up a broadsword, the kind that I'm more familiar with.

I head to where the dummies are poised, ready to be slain and hack down into one, turning on the ball of my foot so the side of it can cut through the neck of another. My heart pounds in loud rhythmic beats, jerking the sword into the chest of another dummy.

I glance to my right, feeling someone stare at me.

It's the girl from 12, Katniss Everdeen. I stare at her a little longer then she does, looking away when our eyes instantly met, walking in the opposite direction where her teammate is learning how to start a fire. It's odd but calling them teammates is simple to me. I have referred to none of the others that way. Perhaps the ones from 11 could be considered teammates but I highly doubt it, not on the same level as the ones from 12.

Still holding the broadsword, I walk to where Clove is practicing her knife throwing, hitting the target in the chest every single time. She beams at me, holding her last one up proudly, then it smacks into the material.

"I'm improving every time," she murmurs, her face flushed from the rush and exertion. She would do this forever if she could.

"You've always been good with knives," I tell her, noting the uncommon blush that comes to her cheeks, "I think I saw some stilettos on my way here,"

"Really?!" she exclaims, about to bound off when she halts and turns to me. She suddenly looks concerned. "Hey… you know the tributes from 1 want to team up. They wanted me to be the one to tell you,"

I purse my lips and blink, "I thought so."

"Do you think it would be wise?"

"It's not exactly ideal. We'll have to kill them eventually,"

"They could be useful though."

"I thought that too. We'll have to think it through a little more however. How soon do they want an answer?"

"Before we leave the center; they really insist on working together,"

"Determined duo, huh?"

"Very. I watched them for a while when you were training. Marvel is actually pretty good with the spear,"

"And Glimmer?"

"Eh,"

"'Eh?'"

"I mean she doesn't seem to have any other skill aside from being pretty. Snicker all you want Cato, I'm serious. …Okay, yeah, I know it's funny," she continues, "She's definitely smarter than Marvel, in my opinion, or, at least, more alert to things, but she'll be more the kind to slow us down,"

"If she has any kind of use, it'll be an advantage for us, Clove,"

"I know, I know, Cato. I just… don't want to be dependent on anyone. _We_ weren't thinking of teaming up with each other, were we?"

"No," I whisper, "We can't afford that,"

"Exactly!" she hushes back, breath soft, "This could be potentially damaging!"

"It won't be."

"How can you know for sure?"

"We're stronger than this, Clove. That's it,"

She stands straighter, staring up at my face. She turns and continues throwing her knives.

I make my sword skim across the thick plastic skin of one dummy, leaving one long thin trail as I head to where Glimmer is drawing a bow. I wait for her to finish and I glance to my left. The girl from 12 is eyeing Glimmer quietly, this look of pain on her face.

"You want the bow,"

The words escape my mouth before I'm even aware of it. I'm not even aware of the fact she's within earshot until I see her turn hastily away, the boy hurrying behind her, looking over his shoulder to stare intently at me.

"What'd you say?"

I turn to Glimmer.

"You like the bow,"

"I do. It's a useful weapon,"

I scan at the targets she shot at with this useful weapon.

No direct hits.

"Is there something you wanted, Cato?"

I keep looking at the targets, "Clove and I agree to join up with you,"

She smiles slowly, eyes bright. "Marvel and I thought you'd say yes,"

She goes back to shooting arrows, dismissing me.

I take my leave, holding the sword close to my side, clutching it tightly, and my knuckles white. I'm back to the dummies that are placed sporadically in one area of the center.

By the end of the day, they're nothing but dismembered parts of body parts.


	6. Porphory

**AN: Thanks to: silveropals, strongenoughforyou, thepinkmartini, soccerstar4242, Tally Jennifer Youngblood, I Smile For Style, peanutbutterQueen, Guest, I-piTy-Da-FoOl, Latinagal, touchmyhobbit, SEGAgirl82, xXdarkestXdemiseXx, Fallen Outcast, Bastetmoon, sheeeeep, ForgottenAngelOfTheShadows, Nicole WillKillYou, lexyrose, Bestbird, psychonna, any who have reviewed/added before and my anon!**

**So, TCBS might be over, but there's still Cato. YES I KNOW IT TOOK FOREVER TO GET BACK TO THIS BUT YOU ALL KNOW WHY IT TAKES ME LONG NOW. I hope so anyway... XD**

**Oh, and regarding the stories (question brought up)—no, you don't really have to read Katniss' POV to understand this one, in my opinion. Two different stories, they just intertwine.**

* * *

_Porphory_

* * *

We both wake up bright and early, heading down to the Training Center immediately. We agreed the other day to meet up with our new partners that we'll meet in the morning and practice together. Glimmer and Marvel were insistent on working together to build up our strengths.

Clove and I were wary doing so; it's wiser to not let people know our greatest attributes but in order to have their loyalty a little privacy must be invaded.

It's a cost, however if Clove and I have any say in it, we'll make them pay if they don't honor it.

We're there before them so we enjoy the quiet together.

Clove heads over to where a giant computer takes up the wall, and she practices matching up the plants with their uses. After only a few moments, she gets frustrated. Slams her fist on the glowing keyboard and stalks back to me.

"Too hard?" I mock her.

She snorts and cocks her head at an arrogant angle. "I don't need it all that much."

I look at it, eyeing it carefully—the way it just sits there, seemingly easy but I know that if I go over there, I'll have absolutely no clue as to how to use it, much less identify the damned plants. Walking away from it, Clove and I practice with the weapons. She tosses knives and I pick up another sword, this one a little thinner, possibly for fencing. I don't like it. I go back to the broadsword and feel satisfied.

Clove throws a few more before retrieving them. She suddenly turns to me, "You think we'll be able to trust them?"

I stab a dummy through the heart. Turn to her, "That'll depend on them."

She sighs heavily, rolling her eyes, "Please, Cato, we can barely trust each other and we've known each other for years—that's the way it works. We don't even know these two,"

"It's true, but I'm pretty they're not as stupid as all that. People don't go to predators without some sort of plan to be cautious. We've got the upper hand with them—after all, _they_ asked us."

Clove nods but I hear the quiet sigh escape from her. She's not entirely pleased with my answer, I can tell, but she knows to remain silent about it. There's not much more we can do. We've seen our district often team up with the other strongest districts before—something that just sort of happened, for no particular reason. None that we can remember; it's something that is typically assumed, if I'm guessing correctly. It never made sense to me, teaming up with those who are just as equal in strength as you.

But it's too late to revert it back to solitary play.

Clove continues throwing her knives, even as Glimmer and Marvel enter into the room. Marvel waves a little too jovially at the two of us, which I only give a curt nod in response while Clove ignores, a little more intense with her throws than usual. Glimmer comes up to me instantly, smiling wide.

"You look well,"

"I hope so—it wouldn't do good to be otherwise in the Games."

She laughs: a sharp and unexpected thing. I don't see what's funny.

Marvel comes up to us, Clove finally deciding to come up, arms folded across her chest, her small frame tense. She's never been the most difficult to read, granted, that's only if you knew her really well.

"So, what should be practice on first before the others get here?" Marvel asks.

"Well I still like the idea of knowing one another's special skills," answers Glimmer, flipping back her hair, "Even if we already know them, like Clove and her knives,"

Clove doesn't take this too kindly but remains mum about it. She likes praise for her work—she's incredibly deadly, impressive, but when it comes from people that she has to go against, she tends to become…a little threatening. Her stance parts a little, wanting to challenge her, but one look at me and she forces herself to remain calm about it. Her anxiety is rolling into me, pricking my skin—even her emotions cut through. She'll continue to view them as a threat for a while before she lets her guard down.

Even then, I know she won't. I don't plan to either.

The rest of the tributes of the districts come in their traditional pairs. I grip the sword I drew closer and head out to practice on the dummies, thinking about what to do afterward. To increase my agility, I'll probably practice jumping on those large and tall rectangular blocks for good measure. Climb a rope or something, although, I think it won't take me long to win.

Maybe not the rope climbing…

I concentrate on the synthetic victims for a while before I glance to my left, watching a flicker of movement. The boy from 12 is doing something with the paint. Stopping what I'm doing, I slowly make my way over; not completely halfway, but enough to watch. He's just painting on his arm.

Just painting….

How is _painting _gonna be of any use, honestly?

I'm about to turn back around when I hear the shuffle of footsteps. I look back at her, the girl from 12, who comes up beside him.

"What are you doing today?"

"Practicing painting,"

He shows her something on his arm that he's been doing. Her mouth makes an 'O' shape, seemingly impressed with whatever it was that he showed her. He brushes her off good-naturedly, and she smiles just a little. They talk a bit more about his technique.

"Where'd you learn that?"

"I decorate the pastries at the bakery,"

She nods, watching in a mixture of amusement and fascination.

"That's kinda girly isn't it?"

I didn't mean to speak. I didn't even notice how close I had gotten until I heard my voice shatter their companionable conversation.

Their heads jerk to look at me: the boy is surprised to find me there, but silences, becoming entirely mute in my presence and there's a hardness in his eyes that looms out. Her on the other hand, while quiet, glares at me with such intense hostility that it takes me back a little, even if we're opponents in the arena.

"What do you want?"

Something in me flares. "Nothing; just watching a useless activity,"

"What he's doing is not useless!"

"Katniss," he tells her in a hushed murmur, placating her to stand down.

Someone is clearly the man in this relationship.

"Prove it to me," I challenge.

She doesn't cool down, fire still flaming out at me, but nothing escapes her lips. Ah, so it's one of their secrets…

I smile at her—to which she scowls petulantly—before I return to my own share of the training center.

Hacking away at the other dummies, I catch Clove's eye, where she is learning how to start a fire. She strikes the flint the moment her eyes focus on mine, fire catching beneath her, reminding me of the girl behind me—when stone strikes and fire sparks out.

Her eyes narrow slightly, her fingers clutching around the flint a little tighter.

_What's going on?_

I shake my head.

_Nothing at all._

She continues back to her work for a while and it's only when I've satiated myself with the destruction of all these pathetic plastic things that she comes to me, something akin to concern in her face but it's swallowed mainly by the curious arrogance in her eyes and jaw.

"What were you doing talking with those nobodies?"

"Nothing, Clove," I return easily, "I was simply watching them and the girl through a hissy fit."

She casts a snide look in their direction—practicing tying knots now—before returning her attention to me. "Did you learn anything?"

"He's good at painting; and decorating pastries,"

She snorts, rolling her eyes, "That's hardly anything useful,"

"I told her that!"

Clove quirks a brow at me, "Told her that?"

I shrug, trying to act nonchalant about it, "She told me that it was useful and I told her otherwise. I was only stating my opinion."

I don't know why she's looking at me with this pressurized worry and anger, arms akimbo, squaring her slender shoulders, but if I was looking at myself at this moment, it would mirror her expression exactly. "Cato—"

She doesn't get to finish, Marvel and Glimmer calling us over to practice other things. She acquiesces reluctantly and I follow suit, the people quiet for the most part, except for us, the ones who have decided that we will win merely by choice and sheer willpower because that's how destiny is.

We head back to our own floor after a while. I crash straight onto the couch, Clove walking off with a yawn.

"Aren't you going to shower?"

I open one eye, barely a crack, to look at my mentor, Lyme. It would've been Brutus or Enobaria but they've never been particularly patient, and Lyme was a more viable candidate for the position. I wonder if they fought against each other so as to not be appointed to us. We're one of the strongest districts, to be sure, so there's no real need to worry about the tributes that come out of my district, but a mentor is usually quite necessary—makes everything equal for everyone I suppose.

If they did fight, that would've been something to see…

"Nah, I'll shower in a little bit,"

"Well, hopefully it's soon, you absolutely reek,"

I snort harshly, turning my back to her, "Leave me alone,"

I hear her sigh loudly, with an impetuous air, and I can see her eyes roll in exasperation with me. I'm a major pain in the ass, but it's fun sometimes to do it.

I sink further into the cushions, thinking about nothing for a long while, listening to the sound of my breathing.

Then she comes to mind for what seems to be the millionth time in so many minutes of the day.

I don't know why she is at the forefront of my mind at the most random of times, or subconsciously haunting the darkest corners of mind whenever I'm trying to wonder about something else, something more important. I don't know her, the enemy, the person I have to hate in order to preserve myself, and yet she's just there—this large, raw power that can't be contained burning out of her.

Sitting up, I try to shake her out of my head. There's nothing attaching me to her, nothing at all. She's just…this enigma when it comes to everybody else. A living secret that no one knows, not even the boy who trails after her like a shadow. There's not even a sense of physical lust for her, though I'd be lying if I didn't say she was good-looking—dark hair, olive skin and eyes that still remind me of home—but it's… just this desire for her essence.

Aside from the boy from 11, she will be the greatest challenge, and I know it's something that I'm terribly aware of. It's exciting, adrenaline coursing through me already at just the thought of hot pursuit. She's something that needs to be contained, which is an interesting idea to entertain however I don't want that.

I want to be the one to fight her.

Plain and simple—she'll be the greatest challenge with all that raw determination because she seems to be everything I'm not: compassionate and self-sacrificing and _weak_. Sentimentality has no place in the arena where you can die at any given point in time.

Huh.

I never took myself to be a sick bastard of any kind—this seems almost obsessive. But when I want something, I've always gone for it. This will be no different.

"Hey, Cato," I hear Clove approach, "What are you doing?"

"Relaxing,"

"Looks like you're thinking… what about?"

I shrug and let out a sigh, thinking of fire and how to touch it without getting burned.

"Nothing at all,"


	7. Scolecite

**AN: THANKS TO: sundragons9, liljennmartin, Shoney, Tally Jennifer Youngblood, candyhearts28, thepinkmartini, bluefire0005, , lala93, tullaniah, jbought, lwebb, adjh, wistfulwisteria, anyone who has reviewed/added before and my anon!**

**FUCK LIFE RIGHT NOW THIS BABY IS GETTING FRIGGIN' UPDATED. I only have **_**ten**_** pages in 10-size font, are you kidding me? And it's been how **_**long?!**_

**My lovelies, if I'm taking forever, **_**feel free**_** to send me a PM at **_**any**_** time! Please forgive me.**

**Also, I'm at a crossroads about this fic and TCBS. I'll probably talk about it in my profile or something. Right now, let's just get this up.**

* * *

_Scolecite_

* * *

Clove comes jumping into my room, disturbing me from the darkness of sleep and I groan, pulling the covers over my head. I wave her off as she continues to hop on my mattress, further moving me from my comfy spot. I'm tempted to smack her away but I withhold.

"Cato, you need to wake up!"

I let out another groan, louder than before. I hear the faintest humming noise emanating from my room. I peek from behind the blankets and see her fiddling with the control to open up my blinds.

"Clove, c'mon, it's too early."

"It's six."

"Like I said, it's early."

"Do you remember what today is at all?"

"Of course I remember—it's the day Clove stops being annoying and lets Cato sleep."

She whacks me upside the head and I respond by throwing my arm out, brushing past her skin. I'm on my feet and running out behind her, intent on making her pay for waking me up—fuck, I want to sleep.

She's light, fast, and she hops over one of the armchairs, immediately ducking behind it. I follow and jump over the same one, moving to punch her but my fist almost hits the ground instead. Clove had already bolted to the left, tumbling in a tight ball to come back onto dainty feet, dark hair spilling across her forehead. She attempts to hide the grin and I wonder what she's playing at.

I go after her, my fingertips touching the edge of her jacket then she's flying into the air, doing an impressive cartwheel in the process. But I had followed from below, throwing my weight across the floor, not touching it and I reach and her pull her to me, gripping her tight and close. She's not expecting it as I pull her down by her calves and she's falling over me; I pin her underneath, the supple body caught, my hands on her wrists, knees locked on either side of her hips and I smile, triumphant.

Clove is angry with me, clearly, since I had bested her this time. It's no different from how we would practice back home but she was always better than me when it came to evading. I usually just charge head on and hope for the best. No that's not exactly true. I hope for the best for my opponents, I tend to win.

She struggles, then huffs, smiling a little. "I guess I deserved that."

"Yeah, you do."

Rolling her eyes, she slowly looks backs at me, her eyes taking on this darker shade I never saw before. She's flushing a little, the faintest tint of pink and I recall that I went to sleep half naked, so my bare chest is exposed. I have a pretty nice chest so it's all good—for me—and I like the feel of the silk sheets.

But she and I have never been this close in proximity. She's seen my like this before, when we train, but it's different. And the position is _very_ compromising so it's not exactly helping. I almost toy with her, because it'd be so simple to see her fluster, even just to smirk wickedly or something. But I don't because neither of us needs to feel confused.

So I get off her, stretching my muscles, "Good fight, Clove."

"Lyme wanted us to practice a little," she replies, back to business, back to being apart.

I'm almost a little disappointed, though I'm not entirely sure why. She and I, while both physically attractive—not even in my opinion, it's just true—had never really had… moments like the one we just shared. It's odd, in an invigorating way; however, I just put it to the fact that she and I had never really had sex with anybody before.

…Well, I'm sure she hasn't, not with the way she keeps herself locked from the world, and I haven't either though my purpose isn't as noble as hers. Oh yeah, we get urges, some of us have even gone and had sex but the Academy was very adamant about keeping us in tight bondage when it came to this.

Not to say that they were monitoring us at every turn—nobody could do that except the Capitol, even if we're the district where Peacekeepers are trained—but such desires were distracting: love could develop for one another in romantic ways and that would complicate the goals we need to accomplish. Maybe it's because the fact love and sex were, essentially, forbidden to us, and in this place where we can actually do things, it sometimes gets a little hard to think rationally.

I quietly clear my throat, "Oh, because we're being screened today."

"Yes, she wanted us to be on our toes today. They are going to see what our special skill is after all."

She's not looking at me, straightening her hair before pulling it back in a low ponytail. I stare at the wall in front of me, rubbing the back of my neck, a crick there that I hadn't noticed. I nod then head back to my room, telling her I'll be back for breakfast in a little bit. She calls back with a vague 'okay' and I shut the door, sighing to myself.

I set the shower to a quick, warm one, loosening my muscles and my neck feel better by the end of it. My clothes are set out from where I had pressed the buttons, a simple dark suede shirt with pants an even blacker shade, the material sturdy.

When I walk back out into the place we eat and discuss strategies, I glance at Clove who is chewing thoughtfully on an apple. She's gotten a liking to them but, then, she's always preferred them to most. They're versatile and hard to get where we live, with rock blocking us from the world.

Lyme comes in, grabbing one of the muffins that are placed in the center of the table. Tossing it to and fro in her hands before taking a bite, she takes a moment to scrutinize us. She stares at Clove a little longer and quirks a brow. I don't miss the way she narrows her eyes a little bit, with Clove continuing to stare past the room, out the window, and into a place where only she lives.

"I hope the two of you are ready. That little exercise helped?"

She's addressing the two of us with the first part; the latter is intended for me. I always get the feeling that she's putting more reliable trust on me to make it out alive. Clove is strong, she's fast and smart, yet a lot of people believe that I'll be the one to win, myself included. Anything to get me stronger is used.

"Yeah, it was good." I answer, snatching a blueberry muffin from the basket and some grapes. I'm not that hungry but I need to be alert and ready. We're going to meet the ones who will decide how worthy we are of sponsors and I don't want to be so full that I can't move around properly.

Clove nods at Lyme, "Yeah, it really helped us."

Lyme returns the reply with a curt nod of her own before leaving the room. She doesn't tend to dine with us, only at dinner when we need to discuss things but nothing has really come up that would require lengthy conversations. The gist of it is: kill everyone; win.

Clove is near the apple core on one side, getting out a knife to cut a piece off. She must be antsy.

"It's going to be fine,"

She stops and looks at me, "I know. It's you I'm worried about."

I turn to stare at her then notice the faintest upward dip of the corners of her mouth, teasing lightly. I smile back, relieved that she and I have been trained to forget things when we must.

"Oh, please, Midget."

She throws the slice at my head, which I catch and eat.

It's not long until we're both ushered to the Training Center, where we'll meet the Gamemakers who will judge us.

Neither of us is nervous. We're actually both ridiculously excited to show them what we can do. We've excelled at out skills for years, developing them through hard toil and it's finally going to pay off. We'll be getting sponsors in no time at all.

We come early, Marvel and Glimmer chattering animatedly together in one corner, with the other tributes slowly trickling in. It's not long before Marvel is called in and Glimmer makes her way toward us. I hear the softest sigh come from the girl next to me.

"Hey, Cato," chirps Glimmer, eyes shining.

"'Sup."

"Hi, Clove,"

"Glimmer,"

Okay, well, this may be a while then. Not that I don't find this amusing but I really was hoping to gather my thoughts as to how to impress them best, not stand awkwardly placed between two women who, obviously, don't take to each other very well. Deciding that there's much I can do about it, I take a sit on one of the lined up benches, waiting to be called. Glimmer and Clove sit on either side of me, my arms folded across my chest to indicate I want to think. Clove clearly wants to, too, her face scrunching up to think.

Glimmer is a little too excited, I think. I wonder what her special skill even is. She's not exactly adept to any one medium of weaponry, seeming to flitter back and forth between one and another. She took to the bow but not well. It's a difficult tool to use; I'm not inclined to use it either, finding it to take too long and people need an incredible amount of patience to wield it, something that I'm not; but it would be useful if, somehow, she could gain a sense of it before we enter the Arena. Not enough where she can kill me, no, of course not. But enough to injure others—if she's intending to be my ally, she must bring usefulness.

Glimmer is soon called, waving at us—mainly me—before going past the doors. Clove pulls one leg up, knee up to her chin. "You ready?"

"Born ready; you know that."

"It doesn't hurt to ask now and again."

"You know that's not true, Clove." She knows what I mean—it hurts very much to ask things in concern, however faint.

She shrugs minutely, keeping quiet.

It feels like forever until I'm called up. I pause, glancing over my shoulder. She continues to stare off then her gaze, brilliantly black, flickers over to me and there's the softest change.

I grin, "We're gonna kick ass, woman,"

She then beams and waves me off.

The Gamemakers are watching me from above with interest, which is good. I ignore them, playing it cool and head over to the broad selection of weapons. I grab a sword, long and heavy and it complements my hand.

"Cato, District 2." I introduce myself, ensuring they remember me.

There are dummies in one corner of the room and I attack immediately, propelling myself forward and slicing a little messily into one of the necks, the sword unfamiliar to my body, an extension I have to get used to. It's not long until I'm cutting through the dummies, rendering them more helpless, imagining blood on the ground because I have to—I'll have to get used to the real thing soon.

There are claps and murmurs of approval from behind me and I push myself further, stabbing into the belly of a person and kicking behind me, dislodging the person who stood too close before pulling my weapon—stained with crimson I envision—and promptly digging it into the heart of the fallen on the ground. Tumbling forward, my shoulder taking the brunt of the impact, I rise swiftly, deftly taking out a javelin spear from where they hang and hurl it, sinking deeply into blue, prosthetic skin, real and sickeningly loud to me. I smile to myself, continuing my assault on people who aren't alive—none of them are, in the arena or not.

I look around me, each dummy decimated to nothing. Sweat pours a little down my brow as people—real people—come in and begin to replace the dummies for the next group who may use them. The judges dismiss me and I nod, placing the sword back before making my way out.

I find Lyme at the end of the hall, an escort beside her to lead me back to the building.

Now all we can do is wait.

The days go by quickly, sun up and down before I know it, time ticking slowly. During the three days of assessment, Clove and I hone our skills further. Glimmer and Marvel actually prove to know what they're doing—which is not surprising, they must've attended an academy as well. They just appeared to be completely useless much of the time. The other tributes are practicing and I watch the ones that will be easy targets—morons that will die before the first day is done.

I notice the little girl, with dark hair, skin and eyes, follow the girl from 12 around. I don't think she's noticed the frail, thin shadow; not until the other tribute from 12 points it out to her. The girl doesn't approach, though she had given the two of them a wan smile before heading to one of the other practice areas.

The boy tells her something that I can't make out and leaves her, supposedly momentarily, approaching the trainer who is in charge of setting snares. I've been over there and, admittedly, the things were useful to know.

She seems a little out of place, since people are supposed to rotate now and again. She should've known better that they will have to be separated eventually. It suddenly dawns on me that there might actually be a relationship between the two of them that not of us were totally aware of. I'm not sure if anyone else has caught it but I do. No one really questions something so trivial and quick to end—tributes are tributes, despite the connections they forge. Clove and I know better, Glimmer and Marvel as well. No one is close to anyone.

Except him and her.

The girl is stationing herself in the section of the Center where she will practice lifting weights of any size. That's where I'm supposed to go next…

Cocking my head to the left, I walk straight over, my stance upright. If she's caught my presence, she gives no indication of it.

She's small, though not as tiny as Clove. I'm rather tall myself, though, so most people tend to be shorter than me. She's a female anyway—they tended to be shorter than men, except Glimmer, whose head brushes the tip of my chin.

I pretend to ignore her, grabbing one of the heavier weights with ease. She is not as strong but she can hold her own. She continues to gaze in the other direction, taking her time to flex her biceps, thin with an olive hue. Most of the tributes are pretty skinny, especially when they originate from the outer districts.

She grits her teeth, I think, since her mouth is clenched tightly, a little bit of sweat going down her brow. Then she lets out a growl, head snapping in my direction, "Do you mind looking somewhere else?"

I blink, my arms pausing in their own exercise. I smirk at her, glad to have broken her façade. I don't know how she can manage being indifferent all the time. "You uncomfortable with me looking at you?"

"No, I just don't appreciate being gawked at—who the hell do you think you are?"

"Cato."

She blinks, expecting something wittier, probably. I'm not exactly the best at retorts—sarcasm is my main form of comeback; and she asked who I was.

She rises from her spot, eyeing me carefully. She places down the weights and begins to walk away.

"Hang on a second," I call out to her.

I expect her to keep walking, to stop and say something rude, but, to my surprise, she actually turns around, crossing her arms over her chest. "What?"

I don't know what to say—I just didn't want her to leave. A part of me wants to engage in some form of conflict with her, because she's the one who will get in my way; another part of me wants to learn about her, not just her strengths, but her weaknesses. There has to be a way to learn without her suspecting me of wrong.

There's no chance to do so. She continues to stand there but my eyes flicker over her shoulder and she pivots around, finding the boy from her district behind her.

He approaches us and suddenly I noticed that Clove and the others are watching us, that the other tributes are looking as well; even some of the Gamemakers that float in and the trainers.

Because, for an inexplicable moment, it was me and her: the two people that the world would bet anything on.

He reaches out tentatively, taking her hand, "Katniss, let's go,"

She keeps gazing at me, intently, quietly, and then she joins him and walks away from me. The world speeds up again and Clove is coming over to me.

"Hey, what was that all about?"

I shake my head, "Nothing, just talking to the competition."

She chuckles, "You'll just have to wait."

The waiting nearly kills me by the end of the evaluations.

We're told that the scores will be broadcasted all around, and by the time night falls, a heavy curtain shining with stars, all of us are sitting alongside each other: Clove, Lyme and me. No one else.

The other tributes go past my eyes, not even fully registering.

Glimmer and Marvel both got nines. This causes my eyebrows to rise a bit, pleased that, perhaps, we may have useful allies after all. Clove's image comes on screen, stoic and still, Caesar's voice clear, "Clove from District 2, receives a 10."

She lets out a breath I didn't know she had been holding, allowing herself to smile fully. Lyme even pats her back, and I gently punch her arm. Her eyes take me in for a short minute, satisfied. I hear my name and I'm confident my score is high. It's rare to get a 12 but…

"Cato, from District 2, receives a 10."

I grin, flashing my teeth and pump my fist into the air. Clove pulls me close, arm around my shoulders.

"Congratulations," Lyme states and there's the first hint of genuine approval that I've never heard. We both turn to her and everything feels right, the world falling into place, calm and serene because we have high score. The evaluations have passed and we're both at the top.

The Gamemakers have given us a gift: sponsors. The scores will help us significantly.

The tributes continue to come on, and even the fact the tribute from 11 scored a 10 alongside us doesn't dampen out spirits. I'm a little surprised and I stare at the televised broadcast, as though I heard a different language. I never heard of someone from the lower districts getting high scores. Although, it just further shows how strong of an opponent he truly is and even Clove thinks the prospect of challenging him will be interesting at this point.

Then we're on the final district and the boy comes on. He gets an 8. Hmm.

I stare until the girl comes into view, her image calm and collected. Caesar pulls out her score, "Katniss Everdeen receives… an 11."

The silence that hangs over us suddenly looms, Lyme remains composed, face indifferent to the news. Clove tenses beside me, clearly in disbelief and there's this noise in her throat, a quiet snarl. She begins to cuss at the screen, furious.

I'm _beyond _furious.

My face is rigid; inside, though, my body is hot, a furnace of blazing heat and I vaguely feel my hands clenching, tugging the clothing until they soak up my warmth. My entire frame can't seem to move, stuck in place, looking at the screen blankly, and her image evanish at the edges of my mind and there's just red as the focus.

It doesn't occur to me that I'm like this until there's prodding on my shoulder.

Lyme and Clove are staring at me in silence.

Without warning, my body lunges forward, arms extended, flipping over the damn table. Things spill and shatter and become nothings. They don't utter a word to me for a few moments, my mind consumed with anger I don't understand and only feel—it's just an 11, it shouldn't matter, but fuck it's an 11, and she did better than me—

"Cato, that's enough," barks Lyme, her authority lashing the air.

I ignore her, hurling a vase at the wall. Kick a nearby small table into the corner, clashing loud.

"Cato!" she orders, more sharply than before.

When I move to throw a nearby chair at the wall, wanting to hear the clatter, there's a hand on my back, grabbing me by the scruff of the collar and hauling me backwards. A guttural cry bursts from me but dies one my tongue. Clove is standing in front of me, though she wasn't the one who gripped me—she knows I get this way sometimes; Lyme, not necessarily.

"Cato, you need to calm down," Lyme tells me, coming to stand beside Clove.

I glare with open hostility, trying to find the composure that I've been attempting to hone; all it took was one little move and she got the better of me.

There's the sound of the door opening and a cleanup crew bustles into the area. They make a quick assessment of the whole thing, Lyme and Clove not explaining it and I felt no obligation or desire to apologize for my behavior. The girl bested me, somehow, in one of the areas that should've been my domain.

I turn away; suddenly aware of the way I lost it. I did more damage than a thought. The table is not only overturned but collided in the delicate furniture that was in front of it, the vase I'd thrown shattered into many pieces, colorful stones littering the ground. The once pristine room is broken from my rage. I thought I was alright; I thought that I could handle anything—except my flares of anger. They always seem to latch onto me and sink pleasant pain into my skin.

I can handle anything except myself.

The work is done quickly, though admittedly I didn't pay attention, with one of them telling Lyme that new furniture will be arriving very soon. Lyme returns her attention to me and seems to sigh deeply, mournfully. "Cato, you need to learn to control that anger."

"Hey, you're the mentor. Aren't you supposed to help us with composure?"

"If the student is willing to listen and understand, they can learn how to do anything. Clove doesn't like all the techniques done when I show them to her but she does whatever she can to aid us."

Hearing enough, I stalk out of the room, trudging slowly, staring at my hands.

"He's usually this way?" murmurs Lyme. I don't think she's trying to hide her question from me.

"Only when he's defeated." answers Clove.

I dream of crimson suns and cold fire and a girl that flies across the sky, truer than any arrow. It was a beautiful dream, one of the loveliest I've had in a long, long time.

It pissed me off.

A new dawn has come. Clove eats slowly, chewing methodically. I don't eat at all.

I stare out the window, looking past the sky, past the scenery. I hear her faintly swallow the fruit, toss it into the air, knife cutting through it and nailing the core to the wall. I let out a sigh.

"So, when do you think they'll start dressing us up?"

The interviews are today and I shrug.

She goes back to nibbling on the core, tiny and insignificant in her hands now.

"This day is dragging out so long…"

I agree with a throaty hmm.

When I finally turn around, Clove has her eyes closed, apparently about to take a nap. My stomach is moving a little too much for its own good and I have yet to discover the true essence of why. I'm not the slightest bit anxious about being in front of people—I never have had stage fright and it's odd that it would begin now.

I'm not too worried about sponsors either. Lyme says that with the way and Clove present ourselves, we should be automatic choices. Of course we still need to prove our worth, as most individuals do, but, again, don't worry, don't worry, don't worry.

Walking forward, I head down the empty hallway and once I reach my room, I flop down onto the bed, reveling in the silk. It's still nice to feel.

When I'm bolted from slumber, Lyme is one the other side of the door, crashing it open and it bangs against the adjacent wall. Clove is standing behind her, frowning slightly, but otherwise relaxed.

"Get up! Don't you know you have an interview to prepare for?"

When she hurries away, I snarl under my breath some choice curse words. Trying to ruin my damn nap…

Then I notice Clove is wearing a rather bright orange dress. For a color I hate, she actually manages to make it look rather presentable. She's still not done—coming out only in the dress so she could help Lyme get me moving. She notices my gaze and flushes, "What?"

I shrug. "Nothing. Just not used to seeing you in dresses, I guess."

She sticks her tongue out at me and I shake my head, smirking at her reaction. I get up quickly and walk out of the room, being literally hauled a few seconds later down the hallway and into the room where my prep team starts grooming me.

The touches are simple. Not much to do and that's fine. I hate sitting in places for extended periods of time. But, despite the simplicity, it works. The outfit is perfect and really shows off my features. Woman knows what she's doing.

I come back out, waiting for Clove. Being a girl, she's going to take a little, or a lot, more time to prepare than me. She has all that dark hair and her outfit, probably, will be more elaborate. Well, detail wise. Maybe. I'm not into that whole thing and I don't really know how they do it—all I know is I'm done.

And left to my thoughts.

That's becoming a dangerous pastime.

So I try not to think too much and relax. The whole ordeal isn't exactly perfect—I have 23 other people to contend with but that won't be a problem, I'm sure. Before I get to wondering about all the other Tributes, my mind recalls memories of home, where my father is probably in the darkness of the mountainside, my mother hoping and praying for my safety and, likely, mine throughout the day as she bustles around with chores, my grandmother solely being there for comfort, even if she can't do much. She's been having a harder time remembering things lately but she gets by all right. Normally, I'm there helping her if she needs anything but not this time.

Everything changed very quickly. Granted, this was all my choice—I am ready to take on anything that comes. We've prepared long enough and it's better to take things by surprise than to let fate do the shocking thing and make me fall. I've never been one to really wait for anything, especially not something like destiny. You have to seize things—not matter how dangerous and wild and unpredictable they be. You can't always play it safe.

Fire burns my mind's eye for the fraction of a moment, lost in hot color and a strong spirit that leads the flame.

She's wild too. I can't play it safe with her either. She'll have to be the first to go. But it's difficult to decide if I want it to happen quickly. Hmm… I want to have fun while in there, after all. Come what may, something will happen between us.

Clove dashes out into the room, bringing me out of the reprieve of my mind. I smirk at her and pat her shoulder. "Gonna knock 'em dead, right?"

She does a very elegant hair flip, which, honestly, I didn't expect from her. She cocks her head and smiles arrogantly, "Like we should."

I offer my arm, bowing a little, and she laughs before taking it. We stop doing so the moment we enter the public eye, because camaraderie is not a very wise thing and I internally curse myself for allowing myself to be genial with her. She and I may have a past, grown up together, but that can't happen here. People will think of us as something that doesn't exist. Clove knows this because she was the one to let go first.

There are roles that have to be filled while here and an aloof one is essential if we're going to make it far. An alliance with the Tributes from 1 was already risky but the, thing is, sponsors may like alliances, finding it intriguing, but it could backfire. With so many people now on the same side in that manmade world, it could be assumed by the people outside of the arena that we'll be fine with so many to rely on. And that's not true—we'll need as many gifts from sponsors as we possibly can, as much as the others.

Clove glances at me and smiles a little in chagrin. I shake my head, telling her not to fret about it. I was the one who forgot this time.

We are greeted by the many people backstage, wishing us the best of luck.

I grin inside—of course she and I will be fine.

Being from the second district of Panem, we won't be waiting forever to be talked to by Caesar Flickerman, the really eccentric host of the Games. He interviews everything, a national figure to anyone of this country. Iconic and he doesn't look a day over forty. One of the perks the Capitol can buy—youth, if you want it.

It starts, one by one, pair by pair.

Glimmer practically struts onto the stage, confident, alluring, and completely at home with being the center of attention. It's amusing but not surprising—you'd expect flamboyancy from someone like her. She's in this incredibly pink…thing. It looks good and shows off really slender legs, but it's just so _pink_. As though she's dressed in wads of swathe, thin bubblegum.

I snort out loud, in the middle of her brief interview where she's talking about her chances, causing Marvel to turn and Clove to eye me surreptitiously. She quirks a brow and gives me a confused smile. I wave her off and wait for the whole thing to pass.

She exits with boisterous pride, allowing Marvel to take her place. He rambles incessantly about what he can do and that's good—for getting sponsors to notice you. I'm not totally into his interview, since, eventually, the two of them won't have to matter to me anymore. At any time, they will have to be erased from my mind as human beings and only as someone to be eliminated.

It'll be a little harder with the girl before me, who is called forth and she steps out, small and seemingly innocent, but there's that sense of dauntless assurance of herself, the one that she's always had to make sure stays because she was born to do this, as I was.

She sits; face beaming with a secret smile. She's analyzing even as she speaks.

"From District 2 is the charming Clove. So, how are you enjoying the Capitol so far?"

"It's different from home but I feel very secure here."

"Ah and why is that, may I ask?"

"It's a place where champions are born, and I am a born champion."

He laughs, as well as the audience, from her answer. I can't help but smile softly. Playing it by ear but it's working. I know that she doesn't really enjoy it here. I catch her looking out the window at times, yearning for the earth that's lacking in this place. She really does feel secure, and her answer isn't a lie, but there are certain points where she gets aggravated by the noise, too used to tight spaces and where people know one another. She hasn't adapted to this whole place as well as I have yet.

"A confident young lady! I like that," he replies, smiling wide. "And, undoubtedly, so does the audience."

The crowd swells in admiration for her, clapping loudly. She nods at them, remaining cool but letting herself be gracious. Humility doesn't suit her; however, she can pull it off when needed.

"The whole thing must be exciting,"

"Oh yes," she answers, crossing her legs, comfortable, at ease, "Clearly you only get to be a tribute once in your life."

"Very true,"

That sounded a little sarcastic on her end. I screen the crowd, wondering if anyone noticed her tone. They may not have liked that if they did catch it, but she seems safe.

"You have family, of course. Tell us a bit about them."

"I'm an only child."

"I see," he sees, with a sorrow seeping into his voice. The people seem to sympathize. She and I are both from homes where we're the only children so I never thought of it as something to be pitied. It makes sense though, when I think about it—there will be no other children for our parents to tend to. A grave loss; but only _one_ loss.

It's better than watching many offspring die.

"Miss Clove, you're clearly an attractive young lady. That will help in the Games, is there anything else that will be beneficial to you?"

She laughs daintily. I didn't know she could do that. "I won't give away everything about me but I'm very sharp."

They continue to banter, with her dodging questions with snide remarks if they get a little too personal for her. She's rather spectacular up there, in my opinion. She has just enough of that amount of edge without coming across as too distant, which helps. Then he's sweeping her off the stage, her figure retreating and I'm called up.

The roar of the crowd shakes me to the core, the flow of adoration enveloping me—I've become an idol to them as well. I wave at them, smiling as dazzling as I know I can without looking false and I hear screams, high-pitched and agonizingly long. They're wrapped around my finger and this is great.

Caesar reaches out and takes my hand in a firm handshake. He gestures to the vacant seat.

I sit, continuing to wave.

"The audience adores you, I see,"

Angling my head, I turn to him, "You may have some competition for their affection then,"

Flickerman laughs heartily, patting my back, "Is that true?" He directs the question to them.

There are shouts of assent and dissent, with several yelling, "We love both of you!" This causes more stir and the cries become love declarations for the both of us. He allows it for a few moments before turning to me, signaling to calm down.

"It's apparent that District 2 is known for their strong tributes—and all of you are very determined people, every year on our show. Your lady friend was certainly bold. Are you as confident?"

"I daresay I'm even more so."

His eyebrows rise in approval; I laugh a little inside—Clove is going to get me when this is done.

"Ah, that sounds like a challenge on your end, Cato. Are you fighting with your fellow tribute before the Games even begin?"

"It's a lighthearted pastime."

The crowd laughs and Flickerman snickers.

"So, in concern of the Games themselves, do you have any particular strategy in mind?"

"Merely to fight and get rid of anyone who gets in my way," I say this with an airy tone but I'm serious, my blood flooding through my skin a rush, "I'm confident, I'm vicious, and I'm ready to go."

"Undoubtedly," replies Flickerman, giving me another pat on the back.

After a little while more, we get to our feet and he sends me off, the people shouting and I give them one last triumphant sweep.

When I get to the back, Clove is there and she immediately comes up and punches me in the shoulder. "If you're confident, I'm fucking brilliant,"

I laugh and I reach out to ruffle her hair, intent on completely messing up some of the strands because she's smiling slightly at me in exasperation anyway. But I don't. My hand falls to my side and her smile is so brief I almost wonder if I had seen it. We almost forgot that there are people watching us and I turn away. I've been having too many slipups lately and I wonder if this is due to my lack of sleep. It's not because of anxiety or even the excitement I usually feel when I'm facing a challenge. It's true insomnia that bothers me and it's becoming very, very aggravating.

Or something else but I'd rather focus on what's occurring in the moment.

Glimmer and Marvel find us next to each other, watching the other tributes on the flat screen on the wall. There's nothing better to do, except, maybe, sleep, but I'm not tired and neither is Clove. We both took this opportunity to survey the rest of the opponents that we may meet in the ring. Clearly, some of them are not all there in their mind and a few are younger than us; easy ones to remove efficiently.

"You two were great out there," Glimmer compliments lightly, but she means it differently for the two of us. It's obvious that she and Clove haven't exactly clicked, with the way she eyes me a little more than I would care to admit is very tempting. There's too much at stake to do anything about it and I didn't make it this far in life to throw it all away for a brief fling. Marvel and Glimmer begin to watch the rest of the interviews with us. They have the same idea in mind, which is good—this means we're on the same page. Before we know it, we're coming to District 11.

The little girl is willowy in appearance, dark and yet bright at the same time. She is definitely one of the youngest, perhaps even the absolute one of the 24 of us. I remember her in the Training Center. I think I saw her climb very skillfully once. It was impressive, of course, but she does have the small and more youthful body, compared to any of us anyway. And her district is bound to have trees, not like at my home. Then out comes the boy, the one called Thresh, who will prove to be one of the more fun people to go after. His stride is imposing, even a little menacing and he remains silent throughout the interview. Since it's apparent that he's not going to speak, they don't mind ending his a little early.

Then she's up—the girl who plagues my waking thoughts and slumber, the girl who defeated me with her 11.

My fists clench into the folds of my clothing, narrowing my eyes at her, hating her for surpassing me in what should've been my domain. My score was high and she went past it.

Her dress is beautiful, glittering jewels that reflect the stunning lights, walking in red and orange rays. A large ornate fire made up of heavy stones. It briefly occurs to me how long it would take to mine such an amount back home, and there's this _flicker_ of resentment, though it's swallowed by the awe and desire to be able to get such things.

Yet it doesn't seem to compare to her. The darkness of her hair and skin glows, a healthy sheen. I notice her eyebrows are furrowed together, staring out into the audience and she's not the girl who had thrown kisses to them in the Ceremony, glinting, to be sure, but certainly not brimming with confidence. She's nervous and I wonder why. With all the power in her hand, she's the last person I'd expect to feel nervous. But everyone reacts to power differently…

Huh.

She settles down into the chair, Flickerman addressing her. She turns to him, a little surprised, lips parted ever so slightly.

"What?"

Clove and the two from District 1 chuckle; I remain stony in appearance for the most part, finding some relish in the fact she had not uttered anything of importance to the audience. We may come out on top, after all.

"She is so nervous." Marvel comments aloud.

Clove nods, actually giving approval to the comment. Well, she doesn't mind one of the Tributes, at least.

Glimmer snorts delicately, a sound that I find odd in its paradox, "Definitely. She's not all that great when there's not a cape of fire behind her, now is she?"

Then, almost as if on cue, the girl proves her wrong, having the audience and host plead with her to demonstrate the latest fashion design of Cinna, the radical. He's new but he's already made a name for himself as an innovator; and people who bring possible change can be viewed as a threat.

She actually stands to full height for the people, bringing herself out of her shell to face them.

Then she spins exquisitely.

The audience bursts into applause and more, more, more.

Damn it all….!

Fire erupts all around her, encasing her in solidified flames that seem liquid and breathy all at once. She's brighter than the hottest star and the crowd goes wild. She's too beautiful and dangerous—what's worse is she doesn't seem to know this.

Glimmer says tightly, "Bit of an airhead."

And they're pulling her into them, breathing the sulfur and fire as though it were precious oxygen. They _ooh_ and _ah_, entranced.

She finally returns to the earth, fire diminishing, and she's human again.

Flickerman and she chat a bit more; then he brings up her sister—the blonde, delicate little thing back home.

"What did you tell her?" he inquires and the audience is hushed.

"I told her that I would try to win," the Girl on Fire replies, brokenly open, "I told her that I would try to win for her."

Everyone has fallen for her further.

"Oh please, I don't think she really loves the girl all that much," Glimmer states, Marvel nodding his head. They can't understand what it means to put someone above themselves—the Girl on Fire is competition and competition will always want the glory too—and to be frank, neither do I. But for a minute, I think I did. Not long though.

She walks off the stage and soon her partner is called up. I'm not all that interested in him but we must know the secrets that may be spilled out before the world. The boy is not impressive so much in the Training Center but he has the audience in his palm, spinning out words that entrap them—she has intensity and he has language.

Eh, still not that—

"Peeta, tell me, you have someone special back home?"

He laughs, "No, I don't." And he explains why, the audience sighing sadly.

Flickerman states the obvious—win and get the girl.

As though I'd let that happen.

"That's not going to be possible," he says. The boy has already accepted defeat.

"And why not?" Flickerman presses.

"Because she came here with me,"

My mind is quiet for a while as the audience dramatically dies, the three beside me laughing and teasing.

It's all over and we're heading back to our individual floors, Clove, Marvel and Glimmer talking about the successes of their interviews, Lyme greeting us, night already shielding the globe.

I fall into my room, enjoying the dark and the light that spills in.

So he's in love with her.

It's not a tactic I've heard of before. This is dangerous. The world is going to support them completely. Everyone will want the Girl on Fire to have a lover, wish for happiness on them, even if it's very, very brief. Tragedies sell more and sponsors will be willing to pay.

No, that's going to happen. Not if I have any say on their fates.


	8. Bloodstone

**AN: OH MY GOD I SUCK I'M SORRY DON'T HATE ME OR ANYTHING OH MY GOD THANKS TO YOU: sundragons9, thepinkmartini, adjh, pokips, ClimbingUpTheWalls, Shika3x, sumthinblu, Tintinn, books-n-cookies, writer with no words, NationalChampion2009, fairytalec and anyone who may be following in anon!**

**I'm sorry for the horrible wait! I just ended school last week and my winter break…it's not gonna be the break I wanted. I'm moving to another state so we're getting things to the new house. That's only the start—there's no Internet in the house there right now. So, while I WILL be writing chapters during the break, it'll take a while for me to put them up. This one was done today and I'm going to attempt as many chapters as possible in the next three to four days. KILL ME IN YOUR IMAGINATION IF YOU WANT TO, I WOULD OMG I HATE ME. D:**

_Bloodstone_

The night whirred in a blur of black and many, many white dots. I had stared up at the ceiling for a while, my heart pounding with deafening vengeance in my ears. There was too much happening in my head and it echoed with each resounding beat of the heart in my chest.

Clove had gone to bed surprisingly early, telling me that she was tired. Lyme, of course, hadn't been there to tell us much. Just to be prepared to do what we had to.

I couldn't even force my eyelids to shut for a while but I'm still not the least bit sleepy. I eventually had gone to sleep, and the slumber was deep, with no nightmares about anything. There were no dreams at all, none that I could remember. But the sleep was restful and I'm awake, energized. The rapid thumping of my heart hasn't seemed to stop.

The shower I take is quick and meticulous. I'm dressed and out of my room in less than twenty minutes. I look around for anyone and with no one there, I plop onto an armchair. The sun is barely rising over the horizon in the distance. The glass, the background dark, reflects my image. The expression on my face is serious, as it tends to be when I'm focused but I notice the slight grinning grimace on my face, something I didn't even feel.

I am tense. I can't deny that. The world will be watching us all, will be watching me, and wondering if I'm capable of winning.

I am, also, generally pumped. I'm ready to get out there, my heart racing.

The sun is a little higher now, light splayed on buildings and even with such minimal degrees of reflection, it's still slightly blinding. I rise and walk over to the table, munching on the food there without really tasting it. I just need to get out of here and go.

Clove and Lyme both come in much later now. The Games don't tend to start early because of the Capitol citizens being more inclined to sleep in later than the Districts—I've had more than my fair share of sunrises. I wonder if these people have ever even really seen one just because they can.

Clove comes up and immediately aims for an apple, gathering up some other fruit and scarfing it down. Lyme just sits quietly. I can't help but peer intently at Clove for a little bit. The dark circles under her eyes don't concern me much, since she, I, and the other attendants of the Academy are used to rising at raw and ungodly hours; not even being commanded to head to bed at early times were helpful: for those of us who helped our folks in the mountainsides, sleep was a luxury and add to that the bruises, lacerations, rugged training rituals and all the other crap that we endured, well, sleeping could even be painful when all your sore spots were being pressed against. Not even the softest pillow could ease anything. But we never complained and we didn't now.

What concerns me is how quickly she's eating. She's not going to choke on her food—Clove missing a methodical chew is laughable and my giving her the Heimlich maneuver more so—it's just the faster pace. As though she can't process what's going on.

There's a part of me that wants to touch her shoulder, tell her everything will be alright. But that's not the truth, and I may lie if I have to, but I won't—not when the truth is inevitable and there staring you in the face.

And there's no camaraderie right now. We can't.

I can feel her eyes on me though. I'm tempted to glance over my shoulder at her but I look out the window, staring at the city. I try to focus on the people who will be watching me today. There are bound to be sponsors for me, I proved myself and it'll be enough. I know it will be. It has to be.

Lyme comes for us eventually, taking us to ready ourselves. The journey is brief but it takes forever.

My heart continues to pound.

I watch the citizens of Panem looking at our vehicle with interest, waving and throwing us kisses, wishing us luck. I wave back, wink at a few of them and smirk as some women fall. Maybe they know powerful sponsors.

Lyme escorts us to an open space, a large hovercraft in the distance, ominous and calling to me. Clove and I are some of the first to arrive. There are no words exchanged with our mentor, nothing except a blank look: that we need to always react fast and first; no excuses.

I walk up to the hovercraft, Clove behind me. I take a seat in the farthest corner, away from the door. Clove sits on the same side as me, but several seats away. She won't be near me and she doesn't face me. It's good this way. She and I are thinking on the same page.

"Hold out your arm," I'm told, coming out my thoughts.

I hold out my right arm, and the woman pulls out a large device. I don't wince as she sticks it deeply into my skin. But the faint blue glow beneath the flesh catches my attention. I glance up at her.

"It's just your tracker,"

I look away. Wouldn't want to lose us. Smart.

I see Clove flinch in the corner of my eye. The woman is gripping her arm a little tighter than necessary. When she pulls away, Clove sticks out her foot, tripping the woman a little, who turns around and glares. Clove smiles sweetly—damn that's scary—and pulls off a sincere face, "I'm sorry."

I chuckle beneath my breath.

It takes a while for the other tributes to arrive and soon all of them are sitting in the two rows of seats. I watch each one when the woman walks up to insert the trackers. Several of them wince; a few hyperventilate. The tribute from 11 is quiet, face stern, though he clearly showed animosity toward it. The boy from 12 narrows his eyes, touching his forearm with an almost quiet acceptance; then he looks up, across the way and I turn my head to see the object of his attention.

She's holding out her arm as well. It disappoints me a little that she flinches slightly too, even if it's only in the face, the faintest flicker of her eyes. It shows to me that she is sensitive—to emotional or physical pain, I'm not sure yet. All she did was ask what it was, no complaint.

I'm leaning forward, my elbows on my knees, hands clasped loosely together. And it faintly comes to me that no one else is—all are sitting rigidly up, even Clove and our allies.

Huh. I guess I'm the only one who isn't nervous. Figures… but this a good thing: fear is a downfall.

The hovercraft lifts into the air, silent and heavy, whisking us to the next area where we'll get ready.

When I walk into the room where I'll change into the outfits all tributes wear, I'm alone. The pile of clothes lies apathetically on the bench. I pick them up, feeling the material. It'll be warm enough but if the nights are cold, they may not be. I shrug. Fires will have to be built and it's not like I'll be risking my safety. Who would approach me?

I remember that, including Clove, I have three allies already lined up. This fact still pisses me off—I was prepared to kill everyone, whether I knew them or not. Admittedly, however, I am hoping Clove will get killed by someone else so I won't have to do it.

That's too much to ask for. It'll take a miracle for an event that will kill the girl I've known for so long.

Pulling on the shirt and pants, I stretch my muscles as I do so and then a little more afterward. I pull on the jacket and give myself a swift cursory glance, thinking of methods, strategies. I'm ready.

"Thirty seconds."

I pause, looking at the ceiling, waiting for the voice.

"Twenty seconds."

I walk forward to the tube. It shuts instantly. It's just me and the air I breathe.

The ground beneath me moves, carrying me upward. I'm agitated, remembering the mines that will be below me, but remain perfectly still.

Then there's light—the hot bright sun; the white world recedes into green and then it melts, showing to me the tributes around me.

"Ten."

I notice the clock, counting down.

"Five."

My heart pounds faster; my fingers are cold; I grin. Everyone looks so scared.

"Three."

I'm ready.

One…

A blare of sound. I'm rushing out.

There's a glint on the ground—a weapon. I dash for it. Feel it curve into my palm. There are footfalls behind me, thundering, rampant, animals.

I turn and slice.

And that's something I'm not ready fort: the red.

It's a boy that had come up behind me, loud and clumsy, and the machete I hold goes through his abdomen, and some of his intestines spill out onto my clenched fist. Blood is coughed up onto my face. He should've known better. I drop him, his face falling onto my foot. I kick him aside. My fingers are getting warm.

My body is moving on its own, arms extended, cutting through figures I don't know, faces of the enemy and everything is swift. The blurs are black, with various colors of skin and hair, but they all look the same—they're the dead I have to get rid of because they have no chance against me. There's an adrenaline I've never known going through me, an exhilaration: I can finally show everyone that this is what I've been trained for. That I'm the best. That I'll be the one to win! I continue to go through them all. I've prepared for this all my life, yet it's different.

The weapons I used make noise when in contact with objects but it's all so… fleshy.

There's squirting sounds; shallow gasps when the bodies thump softly on the grass; there's a faint coppery scent in the air; there's nothing but the strong bold color of crimson, staining the ground and my skin. And because I'm hitting sinew, tissue, skin, the weapon cuts oddly, and my opponents are moving, so the slices aren't neat anymore. They move and they scream and the noises from their throats bother me—they're too loud and quiet at the same time and I end them faster by shoving the blade into their necks, cutting their cries off because, damn it, I'm _good _at this and my triumphs must be a reflection of that. My kills don't cry out; they meet the end perfectly.

The quietest one is the boy I slash through last, small and tiny and lifeless.

He was blocking my view and now I see the broadsword behind him. I stare at it for a little bit then drop the machete and reach out to take it. It feels better.

I walk over his body and take the bag he was holding, yanking it from his hold. His fingers were holding on tight.

Coming out the Cornucopia, I survey the area, counting the bodies as I do. Many of them are dead, many of them by me. I look up at the sky and grin, a shout crowing from my throat into the sky.

How's _that_ for getting sponsors?


	9. Opal

**AN: Thanks to: thepinkmartini, FishFlapper, fairytalec and any of my anon! Haha, this shows how long I've been gone. I feel like I disappoint you all at times.**

**So this will be my last post for a while 'cause of what I stated before. When I come back though: UPDATES WILL HAPPEN BEFORE SPRING SEMESTER STARTS. I'm excited to be writing! Even if updates can't happen ASAP… ^^;**

**Have a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Holidays, everything! Be safe, everyone! *HUGS SO TIGHTLY YOU CAN'T BREATHE***

* * *

_Opal_

* * *

Clove walks through the brush, Glimmer and Marvel between us, with me bringing up the rear. It had been a silent communication between she and I—the allies that can turn in any moment will be wedged in the center, where it can be easier to close on them. Her swiftness will make her better in the front and my strength can block escape.

I can't help but wonder at the way we talk in cues sometimes: if it's because of the extra training we'd do together or because we've known each for years? Possibly both, too, although the latter indicates a softness—and that's no good, no good at all—so I tend to prefer the former's reasoning.

Marvel and Glimmer keep at one another's side. It's not like they're close, from what I can tell, but they're definitely more at ease with one another than the other tributes paired together from each district. But I'm easier around Clove too, even if it's not constant or as obvious.

We hop over a fallen log, and Clove decides to practice her balancing, deftly putting one foot in front of the other. It's only for a few minutes—barely anything to register. But her calm, her having a semblance of fun here, relaxes the tension I didn't know had been building in my shoulders. We can relax a little.

Glimmer settles on the roots of an upright tree, Marvel continuing to stand but against the tree. I scan the area, searching for signs of smoke. There's bound to be a moron who's already not thinking straight; it'll be nightfall sooner than we think. It won't be for another several hours but time flies.

I look down at the weapon I have in my hand, still stained with crimson from the other tributes. I had cleaned it as well as I could have; it had begun to dry when I remembered that I actually had blood on a weapon for the first time. The feeling was slightly invigorating, showing the power I managed to gain in the years I've trained. Yet I felt slightly drained at the same time. The Girl on Fire wasn't one of the fallen. That was both good and bad.

A bird flies away, scattering some leaves. I glance up instantly—thinking of more humanlike birds, the tributes that can climb; I scowl when there's nobody.

"Cato, you need to relax," says Glimmer, looking at me from the corner of her eye.

"I am relaxed. I'm just alert."

"You're making me antsy," she replies, brushing aside her hair, "We're fine."

Clove comes up beside me, twirling a stiletto. "I think we should keep moving anyway. We killed a lot of the competition but there's plenty more we need to get rid of,"

I nod.

Glimmer and Marvel stretch, looking about. Marvel then pauses and looks to the horizon. "Do you think the rest of them headed that way?"

Clove glances at him, "What makes you say that?"

He shrugs, "It just looks like higher ground over there."

Clove and I exchange looks. She shrugs, alright with the idea. We head toward the horizon.

It doesn't take long to comb through all the shrubs—I just chop a lot of the foliage out of the way. This puts me a bit on edge, with Clove in the back instead of me but it ends quickly. We all stop together and scan around. Marvel and Glimmer are murmuring, which doesn't escape my notice.

Clove's either, and she's direct, "What are you two talking about?"

Glimmer turns her head, sniffing delicately, "We're talking about where we should settle permanently,"

"Permanently?" I ask, "We're in the arena. I don't think it would be too smart to make a permanent campsite."

"No, but I mean later. When we're getting rid of more tributes,"

"What do you have in mind?" I question, with Clove quirking a brow.

"The lake,"

I dwell on the suggestion for a moment. It makes sense essentially—the water will be nearby; economic resources like herbs and food will be more plentiful; it'll be a beacon for other tributes who won't have water. But there are flaws—it's too open. The best way to attack, when possible, is with the element of surprise, which has to be calculated in order for a desirable outcome to happen: killing whoever comes near.

"So, explain why you mean later?" I respond, trying to appear clueless.

Marvel is about to launch into an explanation when Glimmer talks first, "Well, see, we're the strongest group together. Taking the others down won't take long and when they start to get low in numbers, they'll be easier to take down. We'll be blocking the water, which is what they need to function, right?"

"In other words, they'll come to us."

Marvel speaks, looking a little relieved and aggravated, pointedly looking at Glimmer. "Yes."

She glances at him and smiles a little.

Must've been mainly his idea; it is a good one, but as stated, we'll have to wait to stake claim on it.

Clove nods, "That's good, for now. We'll come back to the idea later."

They both shrug, not affected by her dismissal. That's good—they can have their thoughts criticized and not want to murder someone, unlike Clove and I. That levelheadedness is useful.

We head further into the trees when clove stops. We pause, listening to the sounds. I hear the faintest sound of heavy breathing, frightened and need. Glimmer is the first one to head into the direction, Marvel coming up behind her, leaving Clove and I behind.

We find one of the tributes, struggling to find food in the earth. Marvel walks lightly—lighter than I thought he would—and it's over quickly, the javelin embedded deep into the flesh. They never saw him coming.

There's the sound of a cannon, blasting the quiet and birds rush out, cawing alarm.

Glimmer claps her hands, delighted with the event. Clove folds her arms but I know she likes that we've gotten another one. Marvel grins at me, and I decide to smile back. It'll make him trust me more, both of them, but, too, I like that they're not going to be afraid to get gritty if we must. Thankfully, they're fast learners and if they're not, I'm sure they can learn. They might be from an academy of their own, but District 1 is seen as frivolous and pretty for a reason, it's not just their luxuries and jewels. These two might actually prove to be better than that.

"Let's keep going, everyone," Clove remarks, continuing on. Marvel and Glimmer walk together, with her taking the javelin as he finds a cloth to clean it with. Then he laughs out loud and just takes the javelin, cleaning the pointed end with his already stained jacket. They're not used to their clothes getting dirty yet; like children who just realized they can do whatever they want and damn the consequences because it's fun.

I grin behind them, shaking my head.


	10. Beryl

**AN: THANKS TO: thepinkmartini, sundragons9, Free the Poet, fairytalec, alravino, Tally Jennifer Youngblood, NothingSafe-IsWorthTheDrive, and my anon! Here are some chapters I did while I was gone. We were very busy and I tried. I got back a few days ago but I just needed to collapse… Hope it's worth the wait!**

* * *

_Beryl_

* * *

I wake up to the light of dawn. I immediately survey the area, trying to find a clue or sign to the whereabouts of any of the other tributes. There are none.

Getting to my feet, I walk over to the stream that is fed by the lake, splashing the water onto my face. It's freezing and my throat tightens from thirst but I stop myself from drinking any of it. We were able to get enough supplies from the Cornucopia on the first day, including empty containers for water, plenty for each one of us.

Using the iodine was a little difficult since none of us were that adept at foraging skills or being resourceful; Glimmer, though, managed to remember the correct amount of droplets to put. We guessed on the time, unfortunately, if Clove retching into the bushes not a minute after she drank from her bottle was an indication.

Listening to the sounds around me, I look in the direction of the sun, wondering if we should head toward it or west. We could go in any direction, really, but I like having it methodically planned out, to further diminish the chances of the tributes getting away. It helps me focus.

The fire we made is still making the slightest trickle of smoke. The coals are white and ash gathers on them from the wood. Thinking of grey reminds me of home. I miss it in a way, even though this is where I was always meant to be.

"You're up early," Clove remarks, voice hushed.

I nod in her direction.

She gets as close to me as we can allow. Being the smallest of us, she gets the coldest quickest, even though she doesn't say anything on the matter. She glances up at me and I return the stare.

Both of us think the same thing—it'd be easy to slit their throats and make our way into the forest; separated.

It'd make things a hell of a lot easier if we only focused on ourselves. Something keeps stopping us from doing it though. Glimmer proved to be a little valuable—she's not as airy as we all believed—and Marvel, well, he is the smarter of the two and knows how to handle a weapon better. Clove and I still don't like the idea of being held back from getting rid of two more tributes—it continues to haunt me, that previous choice—but we've already agreed to it. The only upside is that, when all the others are dead, we'll all be right near each other, no chasing or searching—the end will be right there and I'll be the one to cause it.

"So," Clove says, stretching on her toes, reaching for the sky. It's both a statement and silent question—what are we going to do in general and what are we going to do about them?

"Not much," I answer.

Nodding curtly, she turns on her heels, all swift surety, and grabs her weapons, comfortable with them. It's similar with me—I've yet to really let go of my sword.

Clove then proceeds to stomp out the very faint ashes, for wont of nothing to do, before going over to the other two, sleeping noiselessly—apart from the occasional soft snore—and nudging them rudely with the tip of her boot.

Glimmer squints, glaring, "Do you have to be so egregious in the morning?"

"Yes, and I'm surprised you can use such big words so easily at all."

I snort quietly, which doesn't go unnoticed by either of them. Marvel is as oblivious as ever, or he simply doesn't care for their bickering like I do. It adds entertainment to the day—it can be taxing finding our targets sometimes.

Marvel unceremoniously announces, "Well, I'm gonna take a piss. You two keep arguing about how cute Cato's ass is or something."

"Marvel, we were not—"

"The _hell_ did you say—"

Both the girls burst out simultaneously while I laugh at his tactlessness. So he did hear them arguing—he just didn't know what, and if he did, he wanted to tease them while he was at it. He can be a bit of fun, too; admittedly. His sense of humor is no different from the guys back home.

Glimmer's a bright shade of red, dusting off her clothing, muttering unintelligibly. For someone considered a sex symbol in the Capitol—it was plenty obvious—she gets pretty embarrassed quickly when the tables are turned.

Clove glares at his general direction and huffs. She's not abashed by it, I can tell; she's done her share of teasing like that—it was the casualness of the joke that she didn't appreciate. Even back home it took a while before someone could tease her so easily; she had to know you well first.

"Making a joke like that, really,"

I further the distance a little, going to a nearby tree to mark the wood with my sword, crossing an area off; I turn to face them when Glimmer opens her mouth.

"It's just Marvel being Marvel," Then she quirks a brow, staring at Clove, "Are you and Cato a touchy subject?"

Clove snorts—her mother would _love_ that crass—while crossing her arms, "Please, I can stare at his ass whenever I want. That's not what I had an issue with."

I blink at the abruptness, wondering if it's a confession. I doubt it is, even though the brief moment where I had her pinned beneath me comes unbidden. Shrugging internally, I grin and chide, "I _knew_ that's why you always liked being behind me,"

She walks past me, shoving her hand into my chest, "Get real, you egomaniac."

I stare at her for a minute, just grinning from ear to ear, even though, inside, there is a part of me that wants to be confused about what she says, flattered by her reaction, and everything typical boys might feel about girls.

Glimmer begins to pack up her items and she stops beside me, staring at me questioningly, "You're awfully quiet,"

Her gaze is unwelcome and sets me straight, "Just wondering about where to head to next."

"What about we go north this time around?" suggests Marvel, coming between the trees.

"You took a long time," I state.

"Scouting the area I was in," he replies nonchalantly, giving a yawn, "I thought I saw some food we could bring along, but I wasn't sure if it was poisonous so I left it."

I shrug, "Better safe than sorry. Come on, let's go."

Clove is up ahead, observing quietly. "So, which way are we heading?"

"We've decided to go north,"

She doesn't add anything and just follows. She promptly takes up the front, sticking to the plan we arranged quietly for the two of us alone. Glimmer and Marvel are in the middle, his hand tightly wound on the spear. Glimmer is oddly protective of the arrows and bow that she procured. If it makes her feel better, she can have them, I guess—it's not like they will do her any good in the long run.

I stare at the slight glint the bow gives. I haven't seen any sign of the Girl on Fire since the first day. It's been a while since for me and the fact I haven't seen her makes me uneasy in the strangest of ways—has she been caught by someone else already?

No, if that was the case, her face would've shown by now in the fake sky—

There's the crack of fragile wood.

"You hear that?" is the hushed murmur from one of us.

The footsteps are heavy, unused to the territory. One of the weaker tributes…

I dart forward as quietly as I can, shifting my weight, not waiting for the others.

Whoever it is isn't even moving fast enough. There's the sound of breath attempting to be nonexistent and I'm through the brush, staring at the boy from 12.


	11. Aventurine

_Aventurine_

* * *

He stares back for the fraction of a second, eyes slightly widened, before raising his hands as I raise my sword.

"Wait a minute," he says, breathless, and I see the panic, "I can help."

I'm about to swing down when he finishes. My sword barely stops an inch from the top of his skull. His face is pale but he's looking at me with a calm I don't expect.

"We can help each other out,"

"I highly doubt that,"

"At least listen to me,"

His earnest isn't the surprising thing—he's the one trapped in a corner about to become another fallen tribute; it's the nerve he's looking back at me with, an arrogance that I didn't think possible. It makes me pause but I don't lower my weapon.

"You have five minutes"

"I can help you find her,"

I know who he's talking about and snort, "You're practically useless. And what's in it for you—I thought you were in love with her."

"That was before; I've changed my feelings about her,"

This is not something I thought he'd say and I don't believe him either. His closeness to her is undeniable—the dubiousness of his motives shouldn't even be that difficult to think about. After the interviews, it was pretty much established that these two were going to be the item that the Capitol would be talking about. With their infatuation and love—at least from him—they snagged the attention of the people who can give victory to only one of us; to me. Remembering this makes me want to kill him more; this has to be a trick.

"I saw the interview, Lover Boy. There's no way you'd betray her."

"How do you what I'm feeling?"

"I know what you're feeling: infatuation; and you're going to do what you can to protect her."

He looks desperate for a split second and I wonder if I've cracked him. "You don't know…anything,"

"What, are you telling me that all of that was just a ruse?"

He doesn't say anything—only looks at me blankly. I have him; if he says it was all a fake, people in the Capitol will be angry and ignore him, upset that their lovers aren't in love; if he says that he is in love he will automatically be seen as a traitor who sold out the girl he wants to protect.

But I have to think of it from the perspective of those watching. And it's not hard what the citizens of the Capitol will hope and assume: that this, begging me, is all an act to protect her. Just as I suspected, it's a trick.

"No, my feelings for her weren't a ruse," he replies after a few moments.

"Then what could you possibly want from _me?_"

"I…" he licks his lips, a sign of anxiety, "She rejected me,"

Ah.

So that's it.

She told him to take a hike and now he's so bitter that he'll do anything to get revenge on the person who broke his heart. Huh. That's not a bad ploy.

I take a few steps closer to him, the boy shorter than me by a couple inches so I'm towering over him. He doesn't move and just stands his ground. I peer intently at him by bending lower, staring into his face. If he's lying he'll look away. But he remains firm.

There are footsteps behind us and I regard the sound of my allies faintly. They'll be here shortly.

"So you want revenge?"

He just nods so he won't have to speak and break his motives to me.

"I never took you for the vengeful type,"

"You don't know me very well, then,"

He's right—I don't. And trusting people you don't know is still dangerous. I remember the two from District 1 and it comes back to strike me hard, the choice I made. I already have two people that I can't even remotely be alone with for the briefest of seconds because one move can be made and wham, your enemies are laughing over your corpse and you've just fucked up with the biggest blunder ever.

It may be safer, though, to have him_ with_ me. He's not going to be very helpful, not much anyway—he's strong and he…paints, but other than that, not much.

Although, if what he says is true, there's no way that the Girl on Fire knows. She'll be confused and possibly even hurt that the one person who said they loved her has turned on her so quickly. It won't be a victory, not yet, but it could begin to damage her psyche. People weak in their mind and spirit are easier to break.

Clove bursts through the dense bushes and eyes the two of us, narrowing her eyes, "Cato, what the hell is this?"

"He's going to be joining us,"

"_What?!_" she exclaims, some birds flying away from her shout.

I can tell I shocked him too, since I never gave him an answer. I turn around, "You're not going to give us any trouble are you?"

"No, I'm not. I do want to join." He tells me, face set.

Marvel and Glimmer enter the scene, looking at the three of us. The forest is suddenly very crowded.

Clove comes up to me, grabs my sleeve and drags me away from the boy. I glare at the other two, "Don't touch him," I growl, and they back away from him, although they and the boy watch each other.

Once we're far enough, Clove hisses at me, "Are you fucking shitting me?"

"Hey, language,"

"Don't you dare patronize me you behemoth!" she snarls, glaring at me hotly, "What the hell is he doing here? Why isn't he dead?"

"He offered a proposal,"

"Oh, wow, a _proposal_? You never make deals with dead people, Cato. It's bad enough we have those two with us—how many more people are we going to be taking in?"

"He'll be the last one."

Clove huffs, crossing her arms. "What could he have even offered to make you—?"

"He can find her."

She doesn't like to be cut off but she looks at me. Just stares before murmuring, "What?"

"Her. He can help us find the Girl on Fire."

Leaning in closer to me, the scent of the forest and stale sweat already permeating from her, she gazes squarely into my eyes, "That's only one person. One person that may or may not even be that big of a threat,"

"Clove, c'mon," I whisper back, "She's been showing us up since we got here and we both know it,"

Clove rarely admits anything but the way her brows furrowed together proves to me that she understands the circumstances. The Girl on Fire, Katniss, has to be stopped soon. But then she seems to regard me a little longer. "Cato… these are the Games. You can't lose your head."

"I'm not going to die,"

"I don't mean that. I mean…" she pauses, glances to her left and stares at the ground, "You get too competitive."

"Like you said, they're the Games."

She returns her eyes to me, dark and feverish, "Exactly. And, sometimes, you get fixated on what you want."

I withdraw from her, standing tall, "This is different."

She doesn't say anything.

"So, we're going to keep him. And you and I both know…"

She turns, not facing anybody, "Right."

We can always get rid of him later, just like everybody else.

I turn back to Marvel and Glimmer, who have been furtively glancing back and forth between Clove and I and the boy from 12. Glimmer is the first to address the issue, "What are we doing with him?"

"Lover Boy here," I say casually, grinning, "Is going to help us track down his girlfriend,"

"Really?" Glimmer asks incredulously.

At the same time, barely above a whisper, he says, "She's not my girlfriend…"

No one else seems to have caught it, as inaudible as it was supposed to be. I turn around to face him, "So, you think you can keep up with us, then?"

The others look at us back and forth. They're not going to trust him and I don't expect them to; I certainly don't. But he may be just the most valuable player that I've been able to snag and there was no way I was letting such an opportunity slip away now, not when I'm just beginning to think of and appreciate all the possibilities.

"Yes, I can."

"Good, then," I say, gripping my sword tighter as I walk forward, taking the lead, completely comfortable. Everyone else is going to be worried about their own skin around him for a while.

"Wait a minute!"

I turn around to look at Marvel, "What?"

"You're not even going to consult the rest of us on it?"

"What's there to discuss?"

"Look, you may think that you're great and everything but no one ever said that you could make the decisions for the whole group,"

I face him, standing tall. "Oh? And what makes you think you can challenge my authority?"

"Your authority?" he barks, the sound reverberating through trees.

Glimmer moves closer to him, "Marv,"

He ignores her, stepping toward me. "As a group aren't we allowed to form our own opinions and voice them?"

I snort. "This isn't a democracy,"

"But to allow _him_ to join us, without asking us if it's okay or whether we want him dead or not—"

"Really? I thought he did, since he looked at _all_ of us," Clove saunters to my side, glaring at the two of them, the boy from 12 caught in the middle, staring off into the distance.

"No, he asked _you_," Marvel snaps, "And he even disregarded you,"

I close the little gap, making it smaller and stare him down, my hand automatically going to my sword in case he loses his sense, "The last time I checked, _you_ two were the ones who wanted our help, who came to us to form an allegiance; I think Clove and I have a little more authority in that regard,"

Marvel blinks a few times, falling silent.

Glimmer suddenly laughs, "You can't be serious. Since we're the ones who asked you, wouldn't that make the two of you a little more akin to people we're hiring?"

"You've given us nothing as payment," Clove adds, her voice on edge.

"We've given you our loyalty,"

"You buy loyalty; you never just give it,"

Marvel raises his hand, looking at me and pointing at the other tribute, "In any case, we would just appreciate it if you would talk to us about all of your decisions,"

I cross my arms, grinning, "All of my decisions?"

Glimmer looks at her fellow tribute, "Are we making him leader?"

Clove doesn't say anything about that statement; she only glances at me. I try to hold her gaze but her dark eyes flicker away and I'm back to looking at the others.

Marvel sighs, rubbing the back of his head, "…He's right, Glim. We did go to them, after all,"

She doesn't correct him, only becomes sullen and silent.

The forest is thick with tension until the source of it steps forward, "We should get going,"

I look at the boy from 12, his eyes remaining on the distant horizon.

"At least someone is willing to move on," I comment, taking the lead again, their footsteps trudging behind me, all different beats with different thoughts.

I'm no longer at ease. The two of them aren't as stupid or as submissive as they appeared to be. They won't attack me or Clove, I'm pretty sure—not even they're that unpredictable, or even that desperate yet—but I'll have to watch for Lover Boy back there. He may be the one who'll backstab us but his presence is just as unwelcome to them as it is for me; but I need him to find her, if he even can.

"Hey, you," I say, looking at him, "Up in front,"

He obliges quietly, moving away from Glimmer and Marvel, in-between Clove and I; the positions are the same again, only with this new tribute in the very front. He's quiet, mellower than a lamb. And, for a long while, I just stare at the back of his head and wonder why he wanted to _be_ us, the ruthless tributes.


	12. Peridot

**AN: THANKS TO THE LOVELY: fairytalec, wolfshifter1001, sleepyasian, 27cupcakelover, sundragons9, lunalee003, Switchfoot of Windclan, thepinkmartini, and any of my anon! **

**I'm so terribly sorry for not updating quickly anymore. I'm just…apathetic or depressed. I don't know. I hope I can update quicker! Please don't give up on this story, everyone! IT WILL BE COMPLETE, I SWEAR.**

* * *

_Peridot_

* * *

We stop for a while to rest. Glimmer settles down on a fallen log, Marvel somewhat nearby, holding his spear. Clove went off by herself somewhere. I just came back from scouting the area and seeing what physical changes in my body have occurred. Despite the water we've been able to collect decently, my urine is still getting a little darker but it could be worse. Like that tribute we found hours ago learned. I don't know what the hell she was thinking—just wading in the creek, trying to take off dirt.

You're going to get filthy here whether you like it or not. Even Glimmer hasn't made too much of a fuss about how unclean she's getting. She'll go into streams, wash her face, sometimes her hair, but we continue on quickly and the mumbling is quiet and to herself.

I glance to my left where the boy from 12 is. He's just been sitting there since we stopped. When we trek, he's silent, not making eye contact. No one has spoken to him either, which is just as well. We haven't given him any weapons either, although, eventually, we may have to. I know that none of us are going to risk our own skin to save his, so he'll have to defend himself; preferably barehanded.

Marvel stands up and walks over to me, shoving Lover Boy aside with his leg, probably on purpose. The kick was too hard to be accidental. He doesn't even respond, just shifts in his position to accommodate Marvel's space.

"Are we just going to sit around here?"

"We're waiting for Clove to come back. She's scouting."

"That's not what she said she'll do,"

"I thought we made it clear I don't want to be questioned,"

He quiets pretty quickly and returns to Glimmer.

The boy next to me looks up, staring at the sky. I shift my gaze upwards too, watching birds rest and fly.

"Do you have any idea where she might be?"

He doesn't look at me when he responds, "Probably closer to where those mountains are."

"How do you figure that?" It doesn't make sense to me—there's nothing up there but rocks, possibly snow, too, if the Gamemakers want it.

He shrugs but his voice is steady, "She is not too comfortable being on the ground…"

"Hmm," I reply.

So she'll probably like trees.

Now that I think about it, she's the only one I can't remember going to the ropes too often. Even the little girl would often go there, even though we're _supposed_ to keep our best tactics secret. She's a very private person and no doubt would avoid going near anything that would give the hint of an advantage.

She won't be going too far either. She's not an idiot, I'm pretty sure of it—especially since she's avoided us the past couple of days—and straying far from water is not a viable or clever option.

"Hey, you're finally back,"

I turn at Marvel's voice to see Clove coming through the thicket. "Anything useful?"

"Not particularly," she replies, "There were berries I could've brought too but I couldn't risk them being poisonous."

"That's fine," I answer, "Let's just keep moving,"

We go on further, deeper in the woods, and there are things making animalistic noises and birds darting so quickly through that it's hard to pinpoint the exact locations. We haven't run into any of the other tributes that could pose possible threats. The male tribute from 11 is still nowhere to be found. Aside from her, he's the only other one I want to see.

The sun looms above us. I hear Glimmer faintly panting from exertion. Despite the remarkably slow pace that is driving me fucking crazy, I would think she'd be a little tougher than that. She hasn't done too much though I can count on her being able to kill, which is all that matters right now. I look at Lover Boy trudging in the middle of the four of us, staring at the ground. I know he won't be able to kill anyone so maybe there would be no point in giving him a weapon.

He just strikes me as that kind of person—that kind of pacifist who believes that violence is unnecessary and all that other philosophical shit I'd sometimes hear being spouted somewhere. Well, it obviously didn't prove too well for those that preached it.

I throw aside some brush that blocks entry, Marvel shoving past. Clove stands close to the boy from 12, making sure he doesn't attempt anything stupidly heroic. Glimmer had gone off somewhere—

"Hey, you guys!"

I turn to look at her, grinning from ear to ear.

"What's up, Glim?" shouts Marvel.

She had gone pretty far from us. I didn't notice she had, honestly. She halts before the rest of us, brushing back long hair from her dirty face. She holds up a canister and there's the faintest sloshing noise in it. Opening the container, we find that there's medicine; from the look of it, one of the stronger ones that I would see being used on television.

"Awesome!" Marvel enthusiastically expresses, patting her shoulder, "Where'd you find that at?"

"I found tucked in the roots of some trees; I'm pretty sure it's meant for us."

"Was there a note attached anywhere?" I ask. Lyme could have something useful.

She blinks, putting a finger to her chin, "I didn't find anything on it,"

"It could have fallen off," Clove retorts.

Glimmer pouts, "You think I wouldn't have bothered to check the ground? I didn't find anything there either."

"Show me which tree," I interject before another dispute could arise between the two. Glimmer almost smugly drags me away, hand laced with mine. I hear Clove make a huffing noise.

I keep my eyes from rolling. Fine, don't like each other, but if it prevents us from advancing in the Games, I may have to have a talk with her. Clove will understand—it just takes her some time.

Glimmer leads me to a tall redwood. Leaves and broken twigs are scattered around the base. I go to it and brush aside some of the dirt and leaves, the soil moist. There's the sight of white beneath burnt orange and I find what I'm looking for.

"Is that it?" Glimmer inquires.

"Yeah,"

The note is simple: _Be alert. Kill fast. Trust few._

Trust few.

A little late on that, Lyme…

I crumple the paper into the pocket of my clothing.

Glimmer asks, "What did it say?"

"Just to be alert and stuff,"

She doesn't ask anymore and doesn't ask to look at it.

We head back to the others and Marvel is the first to speak, "You find a note?"

"Yep," I answer, "It's just the usual—be alert and things of that nature."

"Like we need to be reminded,"

I shrug and hold my hand out for the container. Handing it to me, I unscrew the lid and move in to smell it. There's no scent, which will be useful so as to keep ourselves a little more discreet. Not that the smell of medicine is usually strong but it can be at times.

The boy from 12 isn't looking at us; his eyes are turned in the opposite direction, standing motionless. I hand the container to Clove and bop him upside the head, lighter than I was going to.

He turns around stares up at me, surprised. "What?"

"Did you see something out there?" I indicate where his eyes once were.

"No," he shakes his head, "I was just thinking,"

"Of what?"

"How good it is that you have medicine, that's all,"

I blink slowly but don't comment on his statement. Looking back at the trio behind me, I alert them that we're continuing. I fall into step with Lover Boy, and he accommodates to my longer strides, surprisingly. I glance at him. "So what else can you tell me about her?"

There's no need to explain whom I'm referring to. He seems to gulp a bit and it's not surprising. I'll kill him if he lies and there are also his feelings for her.

"Aside from not liking the ground, there's really not much else I can give you, if you're wondering about weapons and advantages. She and I didn't actually talk too much while we were together; we were as secretive as anyone else,"

"But," I point out, "You lived with her."

"Yes, but we didn't even communicate then."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You heard me on the national interview, I know you did. She didn't even know I existed until the Games."

I snort. "Self-pity isn't going to get you anywhere."

"It's not self-pity," he replies, his tone a bit short, "I'm just stating a fact."

"Ah. Well, you should tell me more facts about her, specifically,"

"I don't know much."

A cocky grin forms on my face and I give him a sideways glance, "You don't know much about the girl you're _in love_ with?"

He looks like he's about to sputter but remains composed, "That is not what I meant."

"Alright, Lover Boy," I drawl, stretching out the kinks in my arms, hands in front of me, "If that's not what you mean, what did you mean, then?"

"Like I said, I don't know what her supposed ability for the Games is. I just know other little things, like…"

He pauses here and I quirk an eyebrow, watching him closely. It doesn't look like he's lying; there's nothing really emanating from him that gives off the indication that he's telling me lies. I don't consider him an actor either—pretending to be someone else and hoping people will buy into it. He seems too genuine for that, anyway.

"Like what?" I prod.

"Like…she can sing really well."

I almost stop walking mid-step, "_Sing_?"

"Yes, she can sing,"

"That's all you can tell me?" That's not what I really want to say but I blurt that out instead. For some reason, the image of her singing, serene and at peace, birdlike—for some reason, flightless—it seems too…off, for my mind to wrap around. She doesn't strike me as the type of girl who would sing willingly, much less possess a voice that, apparently, is 'really well.' With the way that she's been presented thus far, singing just seems too innocent, too open, too…vulnerable, for the Girl on Fire.

There's a gentle smile forming on his face, one I want to smack off but leave alone; I do the latter. "Believe me, if you heard her sing, you'd know what I was talking about."

My lips are dry and I lick them. I look up at the blue sky. "What does she sound like?"

"Angelic,"

My gaze returns to his face, "You sure you're not just saying that because it's her? Most guys are…mushy with girls they like,"

He takes no offense, "No, because it's how I fell in love with her; if I'd never heard her sing, that interview would've been a lot different, and so would everything else."

I don't ask him anymore, since none of the information is useful and I'm tired of listening of a sudden, but it dawns on me that I'm curious about how she sings. He just had this…_look_ on his face that spoke of her voice in high regard.

I try not to think about her singing and, to my irritation, fail, since I wake up the next morning, thinking of birdsong and wings on fire. I hurl a stone up into the trees, disturbing the nests of said creatures that bothered my sleep.

This girl, apparently, is full of surprises.


	13. Ruby

**AN: THANKS TO: Eitan, mirinjen, fairytalec, Meowmeep499, thepinkmartini, sundragons9 and any anon! You're all so lovely. I don't know how I'd manage it without you all! And updates I'm sure will be quicker now. If not, FEEL FREE TO BOTHER ME. *points at PM***

* * *

_Ruby_

* * *

I let Glimmer kill the tribute in front of us, Clove motionless, Marvel looking on in silence, the boy from 12 standing a good distance away; I hand her the sword and see what she'll do.

She has been the only one not to kill anyone since the fight at the Cornucopia and, for some reason, curiosity got the better of me and my hand thrust the weapon out to her. In the heat of fighting for your life, she responded, yet, I feel like she's getting a little soft.

This morning, when the dawn came, she showed a particular kindness to Clove that surprised us all.

Clove didn't know how to respond, but she accepted the offer graciously. She's been quiet since, and I feel a sliver of caution take place into me. It's one thing to be on the same side, however allowing oneself to get too comfortable with people isn't going to help in the end.

I also want to watch the boy in particular.

The young girl whimpers, tears pouring down her dirty face, leaving white streaks; her breathing is harsh and rapid, chest rising and falling. She pleads in ugly, broken sobs, words incomprehensible. In her terror, she hurls up nothing, dry heaves that make me want to kick her in the stomach, and it's disgusting.

I glance at the boy, his hands curling at his sides, watching the distant sky, looking a little green. Like he's trying not to hear, trying to deny what's about to happen; he hangs his head as the tribute begins to cry for mercy, and how she wants to be home and how she can't die. I bite back my retort that that's now how the world works.

Glimmer ends it swiftly, the screams gurgled from the blood that spurts into the air.

We're all looking, except for Lover Boy back there, in total silence. Something feels different…

Clove comes up to her, patting her shoulder, "Good job,"

The blonde beams at the praise.

That's what's different…

We're becoming comfortable.

It angers me that my plan didn't work.

A few days ago, when the sun was hotter than usual, and the humidity increased, Glimmer began to breathe a little harder. Marvel, the simpleton that he can be, showed concern immediately. She explained that she's always been sensitive to extreme heat, but she fought it and kept going with us. With the water supply so low, we couldn't afford to give any of ourselves too much, even in her case.

Out of nowhere, the boy from 12 offers her his own container, the water not even sloshing loud because it's so full. He usually takes the smallest of sips from it, and only when he must. We looked on with, I think, a shared astonishment from the action.

Cautiously, she took it from him, and drank, long and deep. And when she gave it back, she had the nerve to look a little touched. Though he didn't smile, it showed in the lack of tension in his shoulders, in the sudden languidness of his steps—a _relief_ that he could be compassionate to someone, anyone, and he could suddenly breathe.

Though he was the one who showed her consideration, compassion is a deadly and contagious thing. The little generosity given to her went out to Clove, who she's been fighting with since we all met. And here was the girl I've known all my life, who I've watched since childhood, unresponsive to charity, patting another tribute on the shoulder with easiness that I can only call camaraderie.

Marvel looks pleased, but he's always been the one to give her encouragement. He's a better mood than usual, since he turns around and says, "Hey, man, we're ready to go," to the boy from 12. There's nothing in his tone that says he is growing fond of the boy, but the lack of animosity in it is a bit disturbing.

I turn to look at him, his steps slow, eyes not wavering from the ground, trying not to look at the slain tribute. He may not have the brutality that we do, but, in his own way, he's…dangerous.

The others talk quietly for the next few hours, with an ease that was never there before, like they're linked. A part of me has to fight down the sudden urge that's torn between telling them none of us are friends and joining the conversation.

This is as astounding as the realization that the boy is powerful in his own way.

But I don't lie to myself, and it's definitely there—this desire for companionship, however brief it may be. Clove is talking animatedly with the tributes of 1, something I never would've thought possible for her. She only usually talks like this with her family or me… I feel a little sick suddenly.

Lover Boy is walking next to me, and every ounce of my being wants to hurt him, beat him senseless until he's dead. He's never been a threat but with this newfound knowledge of the extent of his kindness, I feel him next to me with heightened awareness. In less than a few weeks, he has somehow broken past some of the defenses that I didn't even know we had, much less could get broken into.

But I think he understood my silent message, if the way he keeps looking at me is any indication.

To watch the girl he showed charity to kill another human being; that, above all, we're all competitors and, the main thing for me, was to watch him squirm. That he could dare to be so different, so impossibly vulnerable and be _fine _with it…

"Next time," I say, voice casual, "We should see how you do."

He stiffens but doesn't break his stride.

The little shit.

"Hey, Cato, which direction should we head to next?"

It's Clove addressing me, her eyes a little brighter than normal. A part of me wants to squash it but I can't seem to do it. I want to talk nasty to every one of them, but Glimmer and Marvel weren't the ones who spoke. And it's Clove, who I could never seem to treat too badly out of all the people I've known. My hand curls tighter around my sword, trying to find sanity in it.

"We could try heading that way," I respond, motioning to the right.

They all comply readily, something that's been happening more as of late; and I don't know now if it's because they find me commanding as the leader or if they're listening to a friend's suggestion.

Damn it.

I suddenly push the boy in front of me, rougher than I do otherwise. This doesn't escape their attention, since they all blink in surprised unison. They just assume that he's done something to piss me off, which isn't too far off the mark, so they don't question it.

He keeps his eyes on his feet, but he speaks to me, "You could've just asked me to take the lead,"

"I'm not putting you in the lead," I bite out, immediately taking the front, "You're just lagging behind; it's annoying,"

He's a little bolder, which irks me, "I think I've been more than the compliant prisoner,"

I turn on him, "Ooh, what do you want, a medal?"

We're aware of our audience but I can't seem to shut him up and he doesn't want to. He just glares at me, "No, you just don't have to be an ass whenever you don't get what you want,"

There's a collective intake of breath from the others.

I'm both intrigued and bothered by this turn of his personality. "Well, someone's testy today,"

"Anyone would be with the way you are all the time," he tells me, voice irritatingly calm, but I can tell I'm striking nerves, even if I don't know what they are completely yet.

I wave him off with my hand, "It wouldn't be like this if you weren't so goddamn sensitive all the time,"

"That was another human being!"

"That was another _tribute_—in case you haven't noticed, we're supposed to kill them here,"

"How could I not? The issue here is how inhumane this all is; don't you ever wonder how wrong it is?"

Walking to him, I tower over him, "That is not our concern. Is it wrong to fight for your life?"

"No, it isn't," the boy is red in the face, wired on emotions and sympathy, "But there's a difference between killing when there's no choice and—"

"We have choices here—the other choice is allowing yourself to die."

"Or you could not be a part of the Games."

We all stiffen.

He doesn't understand and it's not surprising.

To him, to everyone else, the Games are bloody and merciless times that they dread; but to us…it's everything we are. It's all we know, it's all we've been trained to do. It's our life—the one time our lives ever fucking matter to anyone else besides ourselves.

And he mocks it to my face.

But something is nettled inside me, that wants to think about what he's saying, and I press it down with violent force.

I don't know if I'm winning or losing and this makes my temper flare, "What do you know about needing to do what must be done? What do you know about anything?"

"I don't know much but all this—" he gestures wildly with his hands, "—is wrong and for someone who is smart, I don't know why you can't see it!"

"Who are you to lecture me on survival?"

"I am lecturing you on goodness!"

"Save your breath," I snort, "I don't know what kind of world you live in where you're all altruistic and shit, but it's not going to help you make it out alive here,"

"I'm fine with that."

"The hell you are," and he must be lying, about this; because why wouldn't he care about his life? He's different from us but in some ways, he's no better. His life matters, it's been evident since the first day when he was Reaped; how he shook and wept while she stood there and accepted her fate. But that's why he won't die. She matters. "You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if your girlfriend dies,"

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I killed anyone!"

The sincerity in his voice grates my nerves, "Oh, what, you're better than me because I'm willing to fight?

"No, I'm saying there has to be something better—"

"You're delusional,"

He straightens and keeps looking at me, the calmest and angriest I've seen him, "You can't deny the truth,"

"_Shut up, Peeta_!"

My scream echoes in the trees, the caws of birds shattering silence, and I'm stared at with many eyes, peeling me back, trying to delve into my skin. His gaze is the most unnerving, because the anger is there but beneath it, there's something like…_pity_.

My fist connects with his jaw and he falls on his back. He doesn't get up, only props himself on his elbows, staring up at me. Clove and the others wait with bated breath, looking back and forth between the two of us.

Finally, Clove steps to me, her hand resting carefully on my shoulder, "Cato, we still need him,"

She's right, of course, and I want to kill him but, instead, I drag him up by the front of his shirt and haul him to his feet. "Find her,"

His eyes flicker with emotion and he continues on. I let him lead, lost in my thoughts.


	14. Iolite

**AN: THANKS TO: thepinkmartini, fairytalec, sundragons9, I Smile For Style and any anon! I want to keep a fast pace, so, so bad. 'CAUSE I THINK THINGS WILL BE GETTING NUTS. MAYBE? I HOPE SO. OMG.**

* * *

_Iolite_

* * *

For the most part, everything is the same after that; emphasis on the most.

The boy remains in the middle of us and doesn't communicate aside from when he's addressed; ever since the other day when he and I had our fight, no one seems to know how to respond to him, whether I'm around or not.

It unnerved me afterward how Clove had come up to me, quiet and stealthily, and pinned me with a look, "When did you and _Peeta_ get so friendly?"

I was fairly sure that everyone—the whole audience outside this world included—caught it when I spoke his name for the first time. I hadn't meant to say it and no one ever expected me to, least of all me. It's always easier to be detached of things when there's nothing of personal identity to remember them by.

It's annoying enough that I know the three around me.

The only one who mattered was Katniss.

The other thing is I didn't even _know_ I knew his name, at all.

He was always just her shadow, pale in comparison to her but a shadow all the same.

In a short span of weeks, I made my life tilt in the direction I wanted, but, somehow, others are having a similar effect. And I don't like not being in control of my destiny.

I had replied to her that we weren't friends; more so, we fought because we were enemies—it's something rivals always do, after all.

She conceded but continued to stare at me until I got fed up with her and demanded she tell me what else she wanted.

And she whispered, "You know, a while ago, he got a weapon from someone,"

I was shocked, "What?"

"Not a huge one—it's just a knife, like a standard one almost. But he received it."

I had turned to look at him, notice if there was anything different. Nothing. I rounded on her, nerves on edge, "Are you sure?"

Clove folded her arms and hotly spat, "Would I lie to you? Come on; he definitely has one. He went off into the woods this morning and I followed him like I always do. There was a blade on the ground with a note and it had his name on it. Also, I think I know more than you, since I'm the only one that conceals weapons."

With that, I took her word for it. And from observing him more later, he did seem a little more…tense; like he was uncomfortable with a deadly secret. Weapons are meant for men who will use them. None of this is. It could be why he got a knife. With that whole 'star-crossed lovers' bit, it only led to the Capitol's desire to see him through it.

And the fight we got into possibly made it worse; despite my popularity with the Capitol, and his romance with her, everyone would probably begin to speculate something else—

My feet jerk to a stop.

No one notices me in the back.

Do they…think I'm in love with her?

I barely know her.

It's certainly a possibility that they would believe it—the Capitol is artificial, and their stories are no exception; it would be entertaining as well to have a love triangle in the midst of it, and considering the triangle they're thinking of would be the very first in history…

It would certainly be useful; many people enjoy romances, especially the forbidden or tragic ones. I've never seen the point of them, since they're all the similar for me, however…

"Cato, you alright?"

I look up, everyone finally stopped.

Though they just caught me, I made sure to look as though I was busy for the cameras. "Yeah, just thought I heard—"

She flits in front of me.

Her shadow blanches at the sight of her, his lips thin, stepping toward her—

Breaking into a run, she leaves him behind and I chase after her in the same instant that he does.

The adrenaline rushes into me and it feels so good to go after something; along with the shouts crowing behind me, cheering that we've found her, a grin comes onto my face. But my thoughts are still surprisingly sober. He keeps up with me well enough, and I finally see his knife, dangling from his side, in my peripheral vision.

He looks at me, eyes shining with feelings I don't understand and I don't want to understand. I pick up speed, heart pounding in my chest, watching her leap, evade and there's a laugh coming out of me, sharp and real.

God, it's been too long since I met someone I actually wanted to see.

She makes a harsh left turn and I barely make it, skidding on dead leaves. Then she's climbing and I hurl myself forward, brandishing my sword. I swing down and it doesn't hit her leg. She goes higher, nimble, and from below her coat spreads out like dark wings—

"Cato, kill her!"

Not hesitating, I begin to go up the trunk, trying to find footing. The bark digs into my skin, I dangle from the branch—

The ground meets my back and the wind is knocked out of me.

Clambering to my feet, I shake my head. I watch as she goes upward, further from us. She perches herself on a dainty looking branch. Glimmer angles her bow, notching an arrow and shoots.

Not even close.

She makes a second attempt and fails.

I'm about to demand I try when, from above, there's a sound of laughter, "Maybe you should use the sword!"

Head snapping up, pain shooting down my neck, I stare at her, mocking us from the safety of her nest.

My heart is still beating rapidly, noise in my ears. I move toward the tree, placing my hand on the dense bark. She looks down and our eyes meet briefly before she scans the rest of us, talking loudly and angrily. I keep my gaze locked on her form.

"Why don't we try again in the morning?"

I slowly turn to look at the boy, all eyes on him.

"Eventually, she'll have to come down. And then we can get her."

No one seems to like the idea of her just being there, untouched, least of all myself. She's so close, I don't care if she's all the way up in a fucking tree; she's just there.

Glimmer agrees first by setting down her weapons.

"I'm going to go get firewood,"

Marvel accompanies her and Clove begins to set camp. Just like that and I almost tear my hair out—they aren't supposed to listen to him. Mouth dry, my chest feels everything speed up, even though I'm not running anymore.

I pin my eyes on his, and he meets it carefully.

Despite the neutrality of his expression, there are so many things racing in his mind. Even if he says it, he can't deny to me anymore that she isn't some kind of priority for himself on a personal level; he's never been able to lie about it well enough before but back there, where we ran for her, both on her heels, what I saw in his eyes spoke volumes to me.

He feels guilty that, somehow, even though he tried his damnedest, he found her—a connection he wanted to keep intact without compromising her safety.

I grin at him and come to his side. My hand rests on his shoulder and I even pat it a little, "Thanks for finding her for me."

His eyes, for split second, glaze over, the blue losing its gentleness. But he doesn't say anything. Shadows never do.


	15. Moss Agate

**AN: Thanks to: fairytalec, sundragons9, thepinkmartini, Dramioneelove, live2travel and any anon! Ugh, there was a computer virus affecting my city (I kid you not—the police were involved and everything) and I couldn't risk losing anything.**

* * *

_Moss Agate_

* * *

The hours drag in slow crawls. She remains up there while the rest of us set up camp below. Even when I'm doing something else, my eyes refuse to leave her for too long. Above us, she is both vulnerable but unpredictable. During the time we've been here, she scaled the tree a little higher, perched delicately on a branch. It hasn't cracked beneath her weight and it's not that unbelievable.

Despite her influence in the Games, when I get a good look at her, there just seems to be…not so much.

She's scrawny, a little hunched into herself too when no one else is looking; even after being in the Capitol for two weeks, she barely filled out at all. I still haven't seen her eyes.

The sun sets and I watch as the rest of us huddle around the fire. Glimmer pulls out the food from a pack and evenly distributes them in small rations. Clove thanks her with a nod of her head and I bite my tongue. I glance at the boy farthest from me, leaning against a fallen log and looking up at the tree, trying to peer into the shadows. I do the same, although it's for completely different reasons.

Marvel plops next to Glimmer and sips out of the water container, "Nice night out,"

Completely casual as always; I know he does take the Games as seriously as the rest of us, but there are times when his laidback demeanor almost feels out of place here. Ironically, it can be a little refreshing…though not for long.

Glimmer smiles, "Yeah, there's more stars out than usual. I wonder why that could be,"

"Maybe the Gamemakers are in a good mood," Clove comments.

We're rewarded, I think, with a shooting star that suddenly passes by. Glimmer giggles and Clove polishes her knives with a loving, possessive expression.

"We didn't see very many stars back home," Glimmer states.

"Why's that?" inquires Clove, glancing up from her work.

"I'm not so sure. The nights could be pretty clear, but for the most part, it was just sky. Although, it wasn't too bad; our jewels that we make and collect are as bright as stars."

"Diamonds don't shine," I suddenly say, "They reflect light."

The three look at me, since I haven't said anything too much lately. Glimmer just shrugs and grins, "I know that, but you understand what I mean. It's rather fun being able to play with all the different gems, being the Luxury district and all,"

Marvel snorts, "Yeah, if you're into that sort of thing,"

"So what would you do?" Clove interjects. Marvel blinks; she rarely addresses him and he her, though there'd never been animosity between them.

"Well, I would work in the factories and handle the larger equipment. It was just what I found more enjoyable than looking at tiny stones all the time; and besides training for the Games."

"Oh, kind of like how Cato and I would occasionally work in the mountains."

"You'd work in the mountains?" Marvel asks, turning to me then back to her, "What's that like?"

"I would only be there some of the time," Clove explains, flicking her knife experimentally, "Since women are smaller, we tend to do the more flexible or delicate work, like going through really small crevices and seeing if we can find anything in the walls; since we're lighter too, we'd scale to the tops of the caves,"

"That doesn't sound delicate to me," states Glimmer, nibbling on a piece of dried meat.

"No, it definitely wasn't," answers Clove, "While we share the same line of work, it's just that the men were too big to handle it. They were in risky situations too, of course, but when it came to handling the more…detailed jobs, the women would be called in."

"Were the women nurses too or something?" Marvel says abruptly. The two girls look at him; he shrugs but there's a blush creeping up, "I mean, that usually seems like a detailed job and you get emergencies down there, I'm assuming—not much oxygen and all deep in mountains."

Clove shakes her head, "No, not usually. While we were allowed to do some of the harder work, men were usually the medical practitioners. It's one of those sexist things—that men handle science better."

Glimmer snorts, "That's stupid,"

"It's one of those progressions that hasn't changed so much yet,"

"Why? We have female doctors back home; hell, so do the rest of the other districts. Why are you the only ones stuck in the past for that?" Marvel looks baffled.

"All districts are different in some ways,"

"I guess," Marvel says, "Kind of like how we don't have trees back home,"

Clove looks at the two of them, "You don't have trees?"

"No, we're nothing but buildings. We just get the jewels from the Capitol or even from some other districts and turn them into fashionable wear. This is the first time I've seen an actual tree besides textbooks and pictures."

"That makes sense. Cato and I didn't see too many trees either, growing up, aside from scraggy looking things."

Glimmer is chewing methodically and swallows slow, "I'm happy from where I'm from though. I can't imagine living in the outer districts."

"Why, too much dirt?" Marvel teases, nudging her arm with his elbow.

She smiles, waving him off, "No, I just feel like that's where I belong, you know? I hear that district 4 is really beautiful—there's nothing but water there and it just stretches on and on. It's even been said it looks like a jewel. I think that would be the only thing I'd like to see: an ocean."

I take a firm bite out of some dried fruit, my eyes flicking back and forth between them all. It's odd hearing them talk like this—like people with aspirations and wants and independent mindsets. Even Clove has spoken a little more of what I never thought she'd voice. But it's slightly unnerving and I try not to look around for the cameras playing our conversation, the Capitol listening and wondering if this conversation is dangerous. I'm about to open to mouth and suggest we all rest when the boy speaks out of nowhere.

"I've never seen jewels until the Games."

We look in the darkness where the boy said his one, lone comment.

Glimmer peers at him intently, and her voice is too soft for comfort, "No offense but your district is kind of…dead."

He laughs quietly, not taking it personally. "Can't argue with that; we're one of the poorest districts,"

"That's true," I reply, letting my answer hang them for a few seconds, "Also, I highly doubt that you had training like we did,"

"Correct again. But I don't think it's too bad,"

"You don't think it's too bad?" Marvel is looking at him like her grew a second head, "You don't think advantages are good?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just saying for the most part, it's not too bad."

"You're fucking crazy," Marvel exclaims.

"How? I thought you all wanted to be here—that doesn't make you crazy?"

The three look at him with hostile glares, but mine is the only one looking at him with something different. I don't know how he does it; where he's meek and gentle but then he speaks with such honesty that you wonder if it's better when he's closed or open.

Clove, in a moment of resignation, throws her knife one last time—hitting an insect's midsection—and sighs, "It's late. We should probably sleep so we can get her,"

It doesn't take long until their all sleeping, the fire dead and not flickering in the moonlight. Only he and I are awake. His breathing hasn't evened out; it's harsher than usual, a panic tone taking each shallow breath.

Turning on my side, my eyes turn up to the tree. I try to listen for her but nothing comes.

I should sleep. But I don't want my guard to be let down. She could do anything from there and we wouldn't know. It doesn't matter how well we think we've trapped her. She's someone who thinks if she has to, that much is clear.

So I try not to be asleep, but everything's so dark I might as well be.


	16. Argonite

**AN: Thanks to: sundragons9, fairytalec, and my anon! Ooh, chapter 16… NEED TO CATCH UP.**

* * *

_Argonite_

* * *

I don't know what the last thing I saw was before my mind gave in to sleep: it could've been the darkness, it could've been the sky, and it could've been the faint outline of her silhouette.

But the very first thing I hear is the crash upon the ground.

And I wake up to the others screaming, a cry tearing past my throat; watching the roaring swarm of insects hurling themselves at us. Without thinking, I break out into a run, forgetting the girl despite she was the one who caused this—she outwitted us but there's no time for me to hold my ground and kill her when she flies to the earth.

I'll have to murder her later.

The buzzing is louder than my heartbeat and I run, feeling small yet sharp stings delving into my skin and it's hot, just burning the skin with an inflamed rage. I feel the flesh swell and turn red. I keep my eyes focused, trying to remember where the river was, where it's cool and wet and will ward them off. God, it's so fucking hot!

Why is it so hot?

The days aren't so normally bad, even at their worst. But I'm suffocating, air trapped in my windpipe and trying to swallow it but it's just stuck; an empty weight that hangs there to hurt me.

I push through brush, heat sticking all over me and I can't breathe. The world tilts and spins. I find myself tripping over my feet and there's too much of everything all around me.

Fire burns and there's the sound of caws, wings flapping about my ears and drowning me in the sound of frantic wind. I hit something solid. Feel bark beneath my fingertips but I look up and it's not a tree, it's not anything—everything is black and horrifying and all I can feel, really feel, is scorching flame burning me alive.

I keep running and my legs are numb. But I can't stop. My mind is wracked with the unknown and familiar at once. I see images of the forest, this giant green blur, and in the midst of the thick wood, I catch faint but believable sights of my family, my mother laughing and my father smiling, my grandmother brushing my hair from my head when it got too long.

But then they scream and I don't know what to do and I feel helpless and I hate it more than I've ever hated anything.

The day is turning to night but the night turns to day in the same split second. I want to tear my hands into my skull to stop the burning, this agony that's on me, refusing to let go. My legs continue on their own, trying to find safety—dammit, where the hell is that blasted river?!

My body slams into more solid things, scraping my skin. I cry out in sharp relief when a breeze hits the broken skin. My blood is on fire, too, too hot.

I dare to look at the sun—

Fuck, everything is orange!

It dawns on me, that, literally, there's an orange glow bathing every detail of the world. It moves too fast for human eyes then it slows to a crippling crawl. My mouth is dry, tongue sticking heavily to the roof of my mouth.

Suddenly I'm drowning. Even in the hideous orange light, the sun cracks through and I find myself in water, the scum and dirt and liquid coldly darting past my teeth and into my lungs. Somehow, the cold is too relieving for me to even care that I'm probably going to die in the most blatantly ironic way possible.

Then there's black.

For a flicker of a second, I panic.

Finally: I don't care.

I breathe in deeply, filling my chest and diaphragm. Muscles twitch and my head spasms with a blindingly sharp blow. Pain rides through my body, my ribs suddenly aching and I curse myself for sucking in air so quickly. I should've breathed slow first.

I open my eyes wide, confused, and I sit up, ignoring the ache that lances my side. The midday sun hovers overhead. I almost let out a sigh from the coolness that passes through the forest. It's not as hot.

But brows shoot up in surprise though when I catch someone coming through the underbrush. Holding a handful of leaves and a container for water, Peeta's eyes meet mine.

"You're awake now."

He says it nonchalantly, no emotion evident at all.

I only stare, uncomprehending.

"The hell happened?"

He suddenly smiles a little, unguarded and quiet, "Long story."

"We got time."

He kneels in front of me, hand outstretched, palm up. He's offering me the leaves, I think, but then his fingers curl in. He's motioning for me to give him my arm.

I don't.

He doesn't say anything or even grunt, nothing; he just grabs my wrist, not ungentle, and begins to remove the leaves. They scrape the skin but it only stings on a minor note. "We got attacked by tracker jackers."

I wait for him to continue, eyeing him intently.

"We didn't see it coming, of course," he says, "It all happened so fast."

"The hallucinations…" I murmur. "How long have I been out?"

"Three, almost four days,"

Damn. She's long gone by now. It'll take forever to find her again.

"Where are the others?" I can't help but notice the urgency in my voice. I don't quell it.

He pauses here, eyes not on me, focusing on the bandaging. I almost hit him so he can tell me. I hate waiting. And I don't like the way he looks down.

"I don't know where…" he waits again, "I don't know where Marvel and…Clove, are. I haven't seen them."

I swallow hard. "Where's Glimmer at?"

He looks pained, even though only his eyes break, "…I found her on the ground."

She didn't make it.

I'm filled with a sudden anger. I don't know why, yet the fact I don't know where they are, or how they are, and that Glimmer is dead. My face is controlled in a stern expression. Peeta notices this, drawing back.

He doesn't say anything, only looks to his right.

I break the silence, needing to hear it, "So, you saved me."

His answer is nearly inaudible, but it's louder than anything I've heard, "Yes."

Having had enough traumas to the head, I lay back on the soil with a soft thump. I stare at the sky for a while, the boy a statue at my side.


	17. Apatite

**AN: THANKS TO: sundragons9, lionola, thepinkmartini, fairytalec, and any anon!**

**Sorry for the wait. Family members were sick and, well, priorities. OMG THOUGH YOU GUYS, THE CHAPTER.**

* * *

_Apatite_

* * *

I wake up with the sun on my face. The sunlight filters in lazily through the leaves. Propped on my elbows, I look around for the boy who saved my life. It's been difficult to think of him as anything else as of late. It stands at the forefront of my mind, and I hate it. That I owe him something; and I've never liked owing people.

Rising to my feet, I notice him in the corner of my eye, kneeling before some plants and leafing through them cautiously. He turns when he hears my footsteps, not saying anything. He resumes his work while I go off to relieve myself. We take a while to begin nowadays. Since our separation from the others, there has not seemed to be a point to go rushing off. It took days for the venom in my system to wear off into something tolerable, even when the hallucinations were gone. I don't know how it could drain someone for so long or if it's just my own body reacting strongly to it.

When I return, he's holding some berries in his palm before tossing them into a bush. Probably poisonous.

"You ready to go on?" I don't ask as much as state.

He nods, carefully wiping his hands on his pants. Taking one of the packs onto his shoulders, we trek into the forest and continue looking for anyone else that we know. Despite all the instincts in me that say I should kill him, I cannot bring myself to do it at the moment. I still need him to find her. It seems that whenever he's nearby, she's also going to be found. Eventually, they'll have to meet again.

Peeta walks forward, indicating that we should head in this direction. Despite that days have gone by since that moment in time, I haven't even brought it up. And neither has he. He mainly just remains quiet for the most part unless I address him or he has something important to share. We keep close for a while and decide to stop for a quick break.

He sits down on a log, stretching out his legs. The only sound for minutes is our breathing. He just remains motionless and I glance at him. For some reason, he seems more contemplative than usual. He only continues to stare at the sky, as he often does. Without moving nearer, my mouth opens to speak—

"Do you ever wonder what we're meant to do?"

I blink, unsure of what's going on in his head. "No, I don't."

"Why not?" he looks at me, chewing dried meat.

"Because it's not in my nature to question anything,"

"What do you mean? Everyone has questions about things,"

"Not me," the words just come out before I can even pause and collect myself. A part of me misses chatter and it latches onto his sentences, however mindless they may be. And if he speaks, she tends to come up in conversation. Despite all my best efforts to remain expressionless with her and him, there are parts of me that want to know what's going on between them. It's difficult to explain and the urge only grows stronger, thinking of the time he told me she can sing. And it's just memories that is both mine yet not mine—like I lived it through him even though the sound is one I never heard.

"You must've had a very hard life."

I shrug, "Not really. I liked my life well enough."

"What did you do there?"

"Trained for the Games, worked in the mountains; there was not much to do at home really other then make it here where we are."

"It sounds depressing,"

"It's the way life is sometimes,"

"Well, at least you seem pleased about it,"

"Not necessarily."

He turns to me and I turn to him. I didn't mean to speak. It just comes and dammit it bothers me. I hate the whole thing—how he just seems to get the better of me nowadays. I look away and breathe out, aware of his attention. I say, for a change of pace, "How was your life?"

Finally, he's hesitant and nothing is said for a minute, "It was…alright."

"Doesn't sound like that,"

"It wasn't ideal but I wouldn't change anything."

"What did you do in your district?" A part of me almost said 'hovel' but I somehow couldn't call it that. Likely, it would offend him, even if he doesn't care, even if he's honest. I just couldn't.

"Well, I painted the cakes down at the bakery."

I look at him, "You…worked in a bakery?"

"Yes," he then meets my eyes, "Is that a bad thing?"

"No, it just seems so…girly."

"Only you would think working in a bakery was feminine,"

"You're telling me it's not,"

"No, but you act like femininity was something to be thought of as a lowly issue,"

"Not true, women have many capable abilities that I highly admire."

"Are any of them sexual?"

I look him blank in the eye, "Several."

He rolls his eyes at me but he's smiling good-naturedly, "You're such a pig,"

"Says you," I remark, "You're telling me that you didn't stuff yourself with all those sweets and shit whenever you got the chance?"

He laughs surprisingly, "It put food on the table some of the time."

"You worked in a bakery but it you only got it _some_ of the time?"

"The best of the desserts went to the customers that could afford them. My brothers, parents and I got the leftovers that were stale,"

"Why didn't you sneak off with the fresh ones?" It's what I would've done. Fuck it, if I was hungry, I'd get food.

"It's not like we didn't try, when we were desperate enough."

My brow quirks up, staring at him, "You stole?"

"No… not really; more like… I'd think about it, and when I was younger and didn't know better, I'd make an attempt or two."

"I take it they were unsuccessful."

"Yeah, my mother would get angry."

Ah. So he was abused as a child. I peer at him more intently. With the flicker of hurt lingering in his eyes, he may still be abused to this day, living day by day in a home where he was unwelcome or simply tolerated. This would explain his mannerisms—the quiet of his steps, the silence of his thoughts, the way he'd wander and return shortly after because he must, not because he wants to; he was born to follow and not much else, not because it's his nature, but because it's been beaten into him. There may be a timidity to him that is all his own, which was there since he was born, however, children are raised to become who their parents want them to be, even when their personality is strong.

But it makes me think of my own family. Where I've been told since I could remember that I was destined for greatness. Maybe he didn't have that, even when he was bolder, strong enough to break rules for the sake of his wellbeing. It's strange, thinking of him as a child, where, in his innocence, he somehow had more courage.

It could still be here, now, where we've all thought little of him.

It's strange, thinking of how pathetic yet determined he seems. That in his weakness he somehow finds strength to commit to what must be done.

This makes him more dangerous than I thought.

He's still staring at me, waiting for me to speak but I have no words. I search for some and manage, "I wasn't hit as a child."

"No? You're lucky." And there's no resentment there.

"I suppose. Got cut up pretty bad during training sessions, though, so maybe they just saw no need to do it at home,"

"Huh. Never mind then, I take it back."

"Aw, it wasn't bad."

"It sounds pretty violent,"

"I learned how to kick your ass in there," I say, sneering a little, "I think that's what it was supposed to do,"

He shakes his head, and there's a smile playing on his lips. I find myself smirking at him and his smile breaks into a broader one. It's like he's breaking in front of me, letting me into him even though vulnerability is not a good thing but I find myself appreciating this brief glimpse of camaraderie. I shouldn't feed into the whole thing but I wind up giving in a little.

We continue on for the rest of the day, the sun setting into the horizon. It wasn't a productive day, and it tends to agitate me. Yet I feel alright, content. It's strange, how I'm here, in a place where the possibility of death remains, but I'm calm.

This suddenly strikes me—that death is a possibility for me.

It's strange. I've never thought about it. And I don't know why it dawns on me now. But…since I was saved, by the most unlikely of allies, I wind up thinking about it when I'm alone with my thoughts. My life never came into my mind until it was possible that I could die.

I turn my head, looking at him, breathing evenly in sleep. It's hard to remain detached from him when there's no one else around. Clove and Marvel have made no signs of their whereabouts, if they're even alive at all anymore. Glimmer is gone. It's odd, how much it changed and how much faster I became accustomed to it.

For all my training and conscious effort to remain emotionally distant from everyone, he seems to be rubbing off on me in the smallest ways. A person that genuinely wants to speak to me about everything that comes to mind because it's the kind of person he is—unafraid of letting others in.

I fall asleep, dreamless, and that's good. Dreams are more harm than good unless they're waking ones—where I control every aspect and make it a reality. It's the only dreams I like. Everything else, too, in my mind, lately, has been dark and decrepit when I sleep, with only the burning light of fire ahead of my train of thought. It's quick, painless, falling asleep tonight.

But then I'm rudely awoken to the bright harsh white of a ceiling. Everything is sterile, nothing out of place. I lurch forward, surprised by my surroundings and I reach for a weapon, the knife in my back pocket—

"There's no need for that, my boy,"

I turn around, staring at the man behind me, whiter than the room, if it was possible. He smiles predatorily—I recognize it instantly. I do it all the time.

But it softens into something less carnal and President Snow walks forward. "I know you're wondering why you're here and I'll make it quick. Wouldn't want the people to know where you've gone off to."

"So I'm not in the arena. That's great,"

"Great for right now, don't worry—you'll be heading back immediately; and you may get something out of it. Depending on your answer,"

"What do you mean?"

"I have a proposition for you, of course."

I can't help but be wary, even though every part of me wants to give into the demands of my country's leader. It's not that I'm not intrigued or curious—I was simply raised to trust my intuition if something felt off. It's not settling into me comfortably, the way a rock sets into water and is happily placed in the bed, immovable. I breathe in, waiting, but I speak, "What do you have in mind?"

He smiles, "Tell me: do you like underdogs?"

"No," I say readily.

"And why not?"

"Because it never seemed fair to me that the person who struggled but always failed suddenly gets all the glory when the rest of us put just as much time and effort, even more, since we're not subject to self-pity." All of what I said was true. There's something that always bothered me about that kind of fate. And it was something I've thought since forever—no one ever told it to me.

President Snow looks at me thoughtfully. Closing the last few steps of distance between us, he reaches out and pats my shoulder, "I think you and I are going to get along just fine."


	18. Calcite

**AN: THANKS TO: lionola, sundragons9, BearWrestler, GreekPrincess143, fairytalec, and my anon!**

* * *

_Calcite_

* * *

"I would like to talk to you about your place in the Games,"

I don't say anything, keeping my eyes straight ahead. I'm willing to listen but I continue to be wary. Even though my body is relaxed and I feel no tension rising, I can't shake the feeling in me to keep alert. Probably all the training I've gone through.

We head down this narrow corridor, the white of the walls blinding me. It's eerily quiet, absolutely no one nearby. It's not surprising but it is a little unnerving. He's the leader of our country and yet there's very little protection around him. Even though I wouldn't do anything stupid or traitorous, the lax of security is one I'm not expecting.

He leads me down until we reach a room where there are two armchairs facing each other, a pattern of blue and green. The color stands out since the rest of the place is still dull in appearance. President Snow sits down on the one on the right, motioning for me to take rest in the left. I do so.

"It's most likely irritating you to know nothing about why I've got you here." He says this calmly. Must be a test—his eyes hold a glint I see in some of my teachers.

"Not really," I reply, "Just piquing my curiosity."

He smiles and there's red at the corners of his mouth. I wonder if he's sick or something—it's a little _too_ red.

Before I can ask about his welfare, he leans against the chair, leg propped the other, "Tell me, my boy, how badly do you want to win?"

"More than anything," My reply is earnest and I lean forward with an anxiety I've never felt before; even when I was lost in the heat of death.

It's quiet for a moment. He only peers intently at me, eyes not revealing anything to me. I have to admit to myself I don't like not knowing expressions. Eyes are typically so open. But perhaps I'm giving too much credit to the boy I've been around with the past few days—he doesn't hide much.

"That's good to hear." He tells me, reclining further back, "Because I would very much like to have you a part of a plan."

"What kind of plan, sir?"

"For many years, I've watched countless Games, all of them different from the other. This one, though, is so different it's dangerous." Rising from his seat, he walks to a wall and touches it, a screen suddenly coming from the solid area. I blink at it as it turns on, and there are tributes on the screen, none whom I know. "These are tributes from the past Games. Normally, as it is, the ones from 1, 2 and 4 are the Victors, as I'm sure you are well aware of."

"Yes," I reply, walking to his side, "But what's different about it, then?"

"The Victor, of this year, will be the girl from 12."

I stiffen, my head whipping to face him and I pull a muscle. "What? How? The Games aren't over!"

"Not yet," President Snow answers me, face calm, "But she will be, with the way they're going."

Before I can ask all the incredulous questions that are bursting in my head, the screen flickers and it shows fire, bright and strong, with people in the background screaming and fighting with fervor—a riot. "When did this happen?"

"It began not too long ago. Miss Everdeen is very influential, even though she has yet to do much. It seems her passion for her sister and the relationship with the boy from 12 was enough to drive a little of the people into beginning this riot. It ended very quickly, and we made short work of those who opposed us; this is the only riot that has occurred and we've doubled the security in that district. However, this only proves how dangerous she can be."

"So much for just one person?"

His lips turn up in a chiding grin, "You'd be surprised how much damage one person can do,"

I turn to the screen again, watching Peacekeepers club several people back. "What does this have to with me?"

"You, Cato, are actually the only one I could think of for this assignment. You see: even though you've received very little, there are many sponsors who support you. You've just shown so much capability that they believe you can rely on your wits well enough. There is much you're able to do and, I believe, that includes playing the emotions of others."

"I'm not a people person."

"Neither am I, my boy; that is why you're perfect,"

"What do I have to do?"

"Get into the heart of Katniss Everdeen,"

I stare at him, uncomprehending, "Be with the Girl on Fire?"

"Earn her trust,"

My heart is pounding in my chest. I'm unsure if this is from excitement or apprehension. I see her face in my mind, in the chariot, flames flickering behind her, above me in a tree, releasing a swarm of death. She's everywhere all at once and suddenly I'm alright with putting myself in this position. "How are we going to do that?"

He puts his hand on my shoulder, "We'll place you in an area where she'll be nearby. Of course, we're going to need a way to get you two together and I have an idea for that. It'll take a little bit to set into motion. After all, we still have the boy from 12 to contend with."

Peeta. I nearly forgot. I find myself swallowing, "Kill him, you mean."

"Yes. He will have to die. Eventually,"

"In the meantime, then?"

"Simply continue as you were. It does matter at the moment what happens but, soon, I will bring you back with the plan ready to set into motion."

"Have you done this before, taking a tribute out to win?"

"No," he says, chuckling, "As I said, this one is entirely different. So the Games will have to change, a little."

Before I say anything further, President Snow turns in the opposite direction. "Come, it is nearly dawn, and we haven't had the cameras on you for a while. The people will wonder."

I'm whisked into the hallway again and a woman comes from a corner I didn't notice. I flinch back when her hands reach for me, a blindfold in hand. Relaxing, I wait for it to cover my eyes. For the next several minutes, all I hear and feel is air. Everything rushes into my mind, the talk and the implications of what has to be done. It nettles me that I will not win on my own terms—that I'm becoming a piece to destroy a threat. But it'll be for the greater good. If it keeps the unity of the nation, then there has to be no harm to it.

I feel my feet on solid ground, the blindfold whisked off in one swooping motion. The dawn blinds my eyes, shutting them quickly. I look around at the scenery, the boy at my feet.

Peeta stirs and sits up, looking at me, "Hey. You're up early,"

"Yeah, didn't get much sleep."

Getting to his own feet, he stands a little taller than usual. He's looking at the sun with a particular serenity, "The sun is brighter than usual."

I look at the horizon, the gray breaking away to blue and pink hues. "It does," It really does.


	19. Labradorite

**AN: THANKS TO: sundragons9, fairytalec, sweet-mclovin, Chanti-Chantale, NaiveLove, EternityWithOutYou, Ellie, Delena-Fan-for-life, and any anon! The lateness is inexcusable but, yeah, when "shit hits the fan"… this went through numerous rewrites too, 'cause, well. *points at the fan***

**Speaking of anon: a Guest had asked me when I was going to update To Your Grave I Spoke; now, this 'story' is there for the characters that aren't the focus of TCBS/TSCO to vent, in a sense. No one but Prim has done that but I think Gale wants to so he's next.**

**Also, speaking of stories, I have a poll on my profile that I'd like people to vote on. You don't have to but it would be nice.**

* * *

_Labradorite_

* * *

For the first few days, everything is quiet. Peeta stirs early in the morning, doing mundane things, then we would set off towards wherever seems best. They seem to drag on—the days; the sun is hot and the wind barely scathes our skin but we venture on. I find myself growing more silent than usual and Peeta doesn't seem to mind the lack of conversation, though he notices I'm sure. It has come to my attention that he is surprisingly observant. Not that I ever really talked before but I think it spins out from the lack of prodding I do about the Girl on Fire lately. He does not suspect anything—even he's not that keen on what I do in the evening.

I think about her constantly, wondering how in the world we'll find her and when. Even though I have President Snow aiding me in my quest to be the Victor, I get no help on his end for hints and I don't ask for them, wanting to prove myself on my own terms. In some ways, I don't mind that sponsors have yet to lavish me with their gifts. It'll make it harder but then I'll look more deserving of the title.

It continues to be the sounds of only me and Peeta. His steps are louder, I think, crunching leaves and dirt. He finally lets out a breath and flops on the ground. I turn to look at him, "What?"

"Nothing, I just suddenly felt tired,"

I walk over and kneel in front of him, peering at his face. I reach into the pack on my back and hand him the canister. He looks surprised for the moment before he waves it off.

"Take it," I order.

"We need it later,"

"You need it now,"

Sighing in resignation, he takes the can from me and swallows deeply. He gives me a sheepish, thankful smile and I nod curtly. I let him have what he needs. He may have to die soon.

And I find the thought doesn't settle into my stomach comfortably.

Rising to my feet, I turn my head to stare at the trees standing around us. There's a breeze that goes over my skin and it cools me for a while; it's still hot and it seems to get hotter. When I thought of forests, I always thought they would be cooler with the shade. In the mountains, the air feels dry. At least here we can breathe somewhat.

Peeta rises and stands next to me, "Is that where we're going this time?"

"Yeah, it should find us stuff,"

"Okay," his voice is carefully neutral, knowing my implication.

We continue on for hours until the sun is low and hidden from view. We are both wide awake and staring up at the sky, a dark blue with pinpricks of white. He lets out a breath and then, "Hey, what would you do if not this?"

I turn my head upward though I can't see him—we're positioned head to head and I don't want to turn. "What makes you ask that?"

There's a ruffle on the ground—maybe he shrugged. "I don't know. I was just wondering what you would do,"

I think. "Nothing, I guess."

"Nothing?" There is no skepticism—only genuine curiosity.

"I don't know what else to do,"

"You're kind of a focused person…so that makes sense."

"Yeah, kinda had to learn and live it,"

Another couple of minutes pass and it comes from my lips, "What would you do?"

"I'd paint."

"Ah, right,"

"You don't sound surprised," he chuckles.

"You're kind of froufrou anyway,"

Another laugh, "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Why? It doesn't bother you that there's little to no masculinity in your profession or hobbies?"

"Not really. It's something that I love to do so I don't consider much of what anyone thinks of it but me,"

In a way that's pretty gutsy. How often do people usually do things for themselves? Never, most of the time; there is the few of us who do things because we've been blessed with the ability to go for it. I wouldn't be here without the support and mentoring of my teachers and parents. While he may not see my life as ideal, or even acceptable, there were advantages I got that he'll never understand. There's an artistic quality to him that is foreign to me as much as my brutality is to him. He didn't have to say much but the abuse he implied weeks ago, but it should not be so shocking—in some ways, his family is no different from the arena: uncaring and cold.

I turn and punch him in the shoulder, hard enough to be emotionally distant, soft enough to speak volumes.

He turns to look at the spot where I hit him then he sits up and punches me back with equal force.

Then he grins down at me and I find myself grinning back, looking at the stars overhead. There's a tranquility I hadn't felt in months, and it hangs over us with such heaviness that we're eased into sleep without effort.

It's late in the night when I'm summoned and President Snow's face is controlled, but there's a glint in the blue of his eyes. "You're doing well, Cato,"

"Thank you, sir,"

We're quiet for a while as he leads me down a hallway, the occasional employee walking past us with a respectful bow to the president. When we're alone for certain he turns to me expectantly, patting my shoulder, "You're growing quite close to the boy,"

"Yes…" I draw this out, hesitant to voice dissent, "I thought that was the plan,"

"It is, my boy!" President Snow agrees, patting my shoulder once more, "We all know that the boy is not as stupid as everyone believes and his nature is very trusting, which makes this the perfect ploy. But my concern is that _you_ are growing too close to him as well,"

"I wouldn't betray you!" I tell him earnestly, because I wouldn't. I'm on a mission—both for the sake of the nation and for myself.

"No, I know you would not," he says this with a discretion to his voice that I don't understand, voice barely above a whisper and it sounds…almost threatening. My heart quickens on impulse, never liking threats. "You're much too smart to do anything that would put yourself at risk. But it nevertheless gives me concern,"

"I assure you, sir, Peeta means little to me,"

He smiles with something that doesn't reach his eyes. With his face so close to mine I find myself inhaling scents I find peculiar—roses and…blood? Of course I don't ask but I worry about his health and wonder if it's declining. He may not be seen highly in the lower regions of our country but Districts 2 and 1 see him for support. I continue to say nothing anyway on the smell, and especially not his eyes.

"See to it that he remains so, Cato," he tells me, "Because you're going to have to kill him,"

"I know,"

"At dawn,"

It's without preamble, without the grandest of gestures—it's spoken plainly and abruptly and my mind has to struggle for a moment to comprehend what he just told me.

"Tonight, sir?"

"Yes, as soon as he wakes up, he must be eliminated. The crowd is getting restless, after all, from all the lack of fighting. And while they have enjoyed the camaraderie between you two, there is speculation that is not good for the press or public."

"What kind of—"

"Nothing you need worry about, my boy. Just see to it that it is done, and, since you're one of the best, I doubt I'll have to repeat myself."

"Yes, sir,"

There's dryness in my mouth and throat even though my stomach churns and there's acidic wetness building deep down, threatening to rise and spill over. In the morning I have to kill Peeta.

Or it'll be my head.

And the decision is so easy that it surprises me why it's not harder. But it's the obvious choice. It's always been the obvious choice. But it doesn't keep my head from spinning and seeing fuzzy images blur in my head of the times we've spoken deeply or shared a similar thought.

I am told to sleep in the comfort and warmth of the building and I wonder how Peeta has yet to notice the times that I've left the woods. I am told to save up my strength for the morning because once he is killed that's the end of the first phase; then it'll all be about the Girl on Fire and tracking her down.

The dawn comes too quickly.

I leave the building and they wish my luck, the staff, and all I do is nod, having gotten no sleep. I couldn't bring myself to do so, and I wish they had let me go back to the woods to rest last night. But I probably would have had a harder time with him next to me.

I don't bother to pretend to sleep, and I just watch him as the sunlight cracks through the sky, the pinks shattering the grey and deep blue. He stretches, yawns, looks around blearily with such vulnerability that I'm thinking of the first time I killed a lamb, to get me used to blood, at the age of 12, and all I could think about was how dead and terrified it looked after it was all over.

He looks up at me, mouth drawn in a straight line, and it hits me: he knows what's about to happen. And there's no weapon in my hand yet. My sword rests comfortably on my back in the makeshift sheath he and I made together.

It doesn't sound like anything else is awake besides the two of us. The birds having chirped at all and they always promptly do at the sunrise. It's deader in the forest than it has ever felt to me without the mockingjays and green birds.

"You're finally going to do it," he states this more than asks. There's a resignation on his face that I admire and scold myself for doing. "Alright then,"

Then he lunges towards me, throwing me off guard and off balance, his fist colliding into the side of my head. I ignore the throbbing sensation and bend to the side to sweep at him with a high kick, the heel of my foot hitting his shoulder and scathing across his chest. He falls backward before rolling to the side, climbing to his feet, and running straight towards me.

I pull out my sword and he barely skids to a halt, the tip just touching the skin beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"You're making this harder," I bite out.

"You're the one betraying me," I hear him say this, despite his voice being so god-forsakenly low.

"This has been set since the beginning; don't tell me you were stupid enough to fall for it,"

"No, I've known it all along," he tells me, looking down at the tip of my weapon, glinting in the birthed light of the sun, "That doesn't make it any less painful,"

My throat tightens with a constriction so fierce it leaves me breathless. I don't say a word for fear of sounding choked on national television. For the world, this betrayal will be worthy of conversation for years after I am dead and gone, for my family and district, I will be hailed for my cunning and ability to not care about the lives of others; for everyone else, I'll just be the asshole who won. For me…I don't know what I'll be, but I won't be dead.

He lets out a shaky breath that I realize he and I have been holding. Mine comes out steadier.

"Look, I know that this is what you're supposed to do," he murmurs.

I suddenly don't want this conversation heard and walk forward, sliding my sword along his body until the tip is streaking over his neck and if he breaths too deep the neck will slice itself. "Then why did you stay for so long? Why did you save me?"

The question is out and he looks me in the eye, his eyes a lighter, brighter shade of blue than President Snow's, yet infinitely more understanding, even in the face of death, "Because…I can't kill people."

"Don't lie to me, Peeta," I tell him, voice low too, "I know you could if you wanted to,"

He smiles with a sad bitterness that looks unfamiliar on his face, "Maybe, if I wanted to. But all I want to do is protect people. And that's why I saved you. You owe me now."

_You owe me now._

The little cunning bastard… and there's no malice when I think this, just something sad and unfamiliar.

"And what do you want?"

"Your protection of Katniss,"

My mind staggers over for what my body is too still to do, "What?"

"You think I'm stupid. I know you aren't around at night. And while I don't know what goes on or where you go, there's something being plotted against her. And I love her too much to see her die like that. She has to be protected,"

"Why? What makes you so determined to see her live?"

"You would understand it better if you loved her," he tells me, looking down, a softness entering his face that's so private and emotional it disorients me to look, "But I am not doing this for myself. There are people who need her—her family, her friends, and her people. You don't understand, Cato, but she's special—she's meant to do something so important that for her to die would destroy us all."

"You make her sound like some messiah."

"Isn't she? The Girl on Fire? The girl who has been throwing the whole world out of balance since she entered the Games? She is a rebel without even knowing what she's caused outside this arena."

I stare at him blankly, "How would you know that?"

"You act like I don't have resources or sponsors of my own,"

I keep staring at him, not saying a word.

"I am laying my life down for hers. You just have to protect her—even though I know you don't want to because being Victor is important to you; I get it. You have family of your own. But this is our deal for my having saved you. She needs to live,"

"Peeta…I can't."

"I don't care what you can and can't do—you _will_ do this."

He doesn't understand why I said that. "She is a threat to everything we know."

"Everything you know. There's something bigger that you're too blind to see,"

"You're so in love with her that you aren't even realizing that this is your downfall—you're dying for her and she doesn't know; I bet that she wouldn't care even if she did. Why would you throw your life away for someone that doesn't love you back?"

He smiles again, "I've been doing this thing for years, in small ways that don't matter. But this is the big one. She's…important," Shit, all this because he _loves_ her. He's doing this all for her and there's no guarantee that she'll even come out of this alive because it's not just me out there that needs her dead—there's the whole world outside that is crying for her to die so everything can be at peace again. He doesn't understand how dangerous she is, how badly she must die for everything to be okay. How she shouldn't be loved by him because it would make everything easier to deal with. He's so broken over her that it nearly makes me puke right there, on his shoes, and I wouldn't give a damn because it's too much.

"Please…"

The plea in his face is too much.

I give him no answer as I slice his throat and he falls to his knees; my sword rose in the air, high above me because I moved so fast that it flew up in my rage and distress and relief, the red streaking down the front of his shirt in dark waves. His eyes are lifeless, the blues becoming blank and it's like looking at the sky without the sun, and his body sags to collapse at my feet and there are phantom people screaming around me as I stare at his corpse. His head lolls to the side and I find myself transfixed by the serenity in his face—like he's done something worthwhile, like he's done something no one ever believed he could do; like he would gladly do this over and over again.

All because he loved her enough to die…

He might be the one gone but I've never felt colder, like I've truly betrayed someone close to me.

And it's absurd, because we're not close. He was always a pawn to learn about the Girl on Fire, to learn why she sets everything ablaze wherever she goes, to learn why she does what she does, what her secrets are, why she loves to sing… We're not close.

We never were.

I turn to look at the camera, my stance coming off as triumphant, and I smirk before I stalk off.

When I know I'm not in sight, I retch violently in the bushes, the vomit staining my shoes.


	20. Hematite

**AN: THANKS TO: sundragons9, pokips, Leo (that was quite a compliment!), rcs2001, Ryan-Draven57, re-dulche, and any anon!**

**The support still means a lot to me. And for those that voted in the polls, thanks!**

* * *

_Hematite_

* * *

It doesn't take long to be called back anymore, what with Peeta being dead. Being dead by my hands…

Because of this, President Snow calls with more frequency, and I continue to listen to him as he guides me in any way he decides. Despite what he had me do, I am still supposed to serve him. I'm allows to view the monitors in the rooms, watching the various tributes that are left. I am surprised to find Clove and Marvel still alive, separated, and moving in opposite directions, neither out of place in their solitude. I keep my mouth shut about them and don't give any indication that I am wondering about how much longer they will be around.

With my newfound connections, it's only plausible that I'll be Victor at this point.

I proved my loyalty, after all, by taking Peeta's life. I did it with such swiftness and without so much as batting an eye that I had to have shown enough. I had returned to President Snow with high spirits being evident in every step and he congratulated me on my killing of one of the star-crossed lovers.

Right, I had forgotten that they were lovers. Not by any means truly, but that was their moniker, a way to remember them—as two halves of a whole. And I killed one half already.

The people of the Capitol took the death of Peeta with a resonant cry, as they always do with their favorites, and President Snow assured me that I was still considered invaluable and high on the list of any sponsors when they feel I should be helped. I couldn't care less about them since I've managed just fine. But I had wondered if my chances dwindled rapidly when I removed Peeta from the Games. I still do. The Capitol is loyal and, much of the time, easily persuaded with the right amount of consistency. Even though there are those that are independent thinkers—like Cinna, the stylist of the Girl on Fire—the general population is blissfully unaware that the Games are now staged, for real, behind the scenes.

This suddenly gives me pause.

Despite the work I am doing, and the effort I've done, and that I am still, possibly, another contender that could die…my agreeing to have President Snow helping me now feels like…cheating.

Like I'm not earning this title on my own…

"Is something wrong, my boy?"

I break out of my thoughts and turn to President Snow, "No, sir,"

His eyes return to the monitor where we watch one of the tribute start a fire; in broad daylight. Idiot.

"You had suddenly looked lost in thought."

"Just a relapse of memory, I guess,"

"Well, perhaps you should get some rest," he tells me politely, "After all, tomorrow we are going to put the plan into motion for Miss Everdeen."

Everdeen. I think it's a nice name. Unfortunately, it just has that certain ring to it.

When I enter my sleeping quarters, the bare walls a bright white, I immediately head to the small bed where the soft fabric of the covers slips around me. I find myself missing the silk sheets, though. Bu it makes sense why my space is small, why everything is empty aside from a bed, and how everything is so staunchly white it hurts my eyes if I look for long periods of time.

I am still a tribute. And tributes don't get favors.

This enrages me though I keep down the anger and roll onto my side, willing myself to go to sleep. I shouldn't be angry, considering this is an advantage—surrounded by all the information; but a part of me has never liked that even with all my talents, all my compliancy and obedience, there seems to be this innate urge to keep me locked up from victory; as though I'd be too unstable to handle it all.

My mind freezes as my eyes snap open, heart pounding in my chest. I sit up, trying to steady the heavy thumping. I put my hand to my face, find it cold and damp with sweat. I push back my hair that had gotten longer, sweeping it out of my eyes a little bit. I don't remember what I dreamt but it was enough to shock me into waking up. That much was for sure.

Maybe it's best I don't know.

I need to stay focused, after all.

The door slides open and a woman with blue lipstick and green hair steps in, "President Snow is ready to see you, please follow me,"

I do so and see him settled in a chair, sipping from a teacup. He smiles in greeting, "We are prepared,"

"I am too," I answer, "When do we begin?"

"Right away," President Snow replies, motioning to his left to the hallway. We make our way to where some of the staff is fiddling with controls and monitors too complex—therefore, boring—to understand so I don't bother. I only have one goal in mind.

"We have decided that the best way to get close to her is to do what you did to Peeta,"

I turn to him, "You mean trick her,"

"That is precisely it." He walks over to where a Gamemaker is pressing several controls. He points to something blue, symbol making no sense, "Here is what we're going to use. Our choice is to put you in a location where she'll be able to find you and then you'll have to make her trust you on your own."

"What exactly will I be doing?"

"What you will do is be placed into the arena. We'll start a fire—"

—wait, fire?—

"—and it'll build up into an inferno in the location where she and you will be. Some sort of incident happens where she has to save you and it should work from there on its own."

I may be a devoted citizen of Panem but the words come— "That doesn't sound full-proof to me."

He looks at me, eyes slightly narrowed—in confusion or offense I don't know—and says, "Why ever not?"

"She is nothing like Peeta. Peeta was kind and caring—it would make sense for him to save my life; but her, she owes me absolutely nothing and seeing's what's happened around here, I'll be the last person she'll ever want to save,"

He ponders this, fingers on his chin in meditation, "Hmm. I suppose that is correct. Very well, we'll change that. Instead, you'll be the one to rescue her."

I blink. "Why don't I just finish her off there and then, though, sir?"

He chuckles good-naturedly, "My boy, it's a _game_. It needs to reach the finish."

We speak no more of that. "Alright, I'll do my best."

"It's all we ask for, Cato. You'll be put back in the arena shortly. Don't worry about how you'll rescue her—the Gamemakers will take care of that. You just be alert—you'll know when it happens."

Even though it's broad daylight, I'm placed back into the arena effortlessly. No one is around me and I walk in the direction they told me to—towards the distant mountaintop. I climb for a while, sweat dripping off my brow, clinging to my hair. I take a gulp of water. Walk on. It takes forever until I reach a summit. And then it happens—

A great wall of flame is burning towards me, the smoke overwhelming my sense with an intense quickness I begin to cough. I shut my eyes, feeling them water, before I open them to see a figure running in the distance, nimble and sure.

It's her.

Until the figure gets closer and I realize it's not her—it's the little girl from 11.

She comes out of the fire later, a shadow scathing the forest floor, and she grips the child by the hand, pulling her along. Together, they move faster in my direction. Neither one has seen me. This is good.

Then I hear a cry and I rush forward.

Being nearer to the mountaintop, where cliffs are unknowable, a piece—larger than normal, so it's the Gamemakers—had fallen to the forest below, crashing loudly.

"Katniss!"

I find the girl leaning over the side of the cliff, reaching out a thin dark hand, "Grab my hand! Please, I can't lose you!"

The Girl on Fire is hanging on desperately, fingernails digging into the mountainside, trying to grab a solid foothold, "I can't! Rue, you have to get away—"

"No! I won't leave without you!"

"Rue! You need to get out of here—" she coughs from the smoke.

Before the girl can say anything more, she begins to cough as well, violently, and she shakes. She stretches her hand out further, a limb of a tree, but then she halts when she sees me and screams. She's suddenly aware of my too and her voice is harsh, loud, similar to the blaze around us.

"You leave her alone!"

I don't say anything as I bend down, stretching my hand out and she pulls back, as though she suddenly saw a viper. She recoiled so fast that her foot slipped and she slides another foot or two. The girl cries out her name and stretches out her hand, forgetting me, "Katniss! Climb back up!"

She doesn't reach out her hand, even though she now could, and only stares. I stare back. But my impatience gets the better of me, "Come on! You'll die here—don't be stupid!"

Something in her snaps and she reaches out. My hand is closest so she grips it; hers is sweaty and small and firm. I pull and when she's high enough, takes the child's hand. We pull her until she's on the surface but then I heft them to their feet and dash with each one in hand, not caring what they're thinking or their mingled protests. They eventually realize I'm in the right state of mind and let me pull them. I remember the map I saw briefly before I left and head to the river nearby.

We head into the water, cool and dark, before coming back up, listening to the roar over us.

It subsides and we head to shore. Where my face is instantly the target of her bow and arrow; the bow Glimmer had once.

"Why'd you help us?"

I cough, finding my throat clogged, "Why wouldn't I help you?"

"Every reason,"

I snort, "You're welcome,"

She doesn't put her bow down, "You have too many reasons to kill us. Why should we trust you?"

"I'm not telling you to," I answer honestly; maybe she's the type that appreciates straightforwardness, "All I know is I saved your life and I don't appreciate you pointing that thing at me for it,"

Her eyes flicker and her bow lowers a little. Only a little. But it's a start.

"Katniss," the girl whispers, tugging the older girl's sleeve, "We did almost die…"

She looks at me then glances at Rue, her position unchanged aside from the turn of her head. I turn, wait. Not paying attention. Privacy is valued so maybe she'll like that too.

We're all caught up in our own thoughts for a while. They talk and I think.

I think of how close all of us had come to dying.

We're putting on a show for them, too, now, not just Panem. But something in me, in the quiet of these moments, has come back up, a fierce awareness of the situation from an objective point of view. That wall of fire never bothered to halt—it licked the back of my head, even as we dove into the water. The smoke was powerful and heady, filling my lungs. These are manmade. They are manipulated. But I was still going through what they dealt with. None of my emotions were fake.

I reach to touch the back of my head. The hair there is singed and my fingers come to my eyes dirty.

"Hey,"

I look at her; meet her eyes that refuse to waver. Then they do, "We're leaving now. Don't drag behind,"

I blink slowly at her retreating back and meet the child's dark gaze. She offers a small, tentative smile before running off to catch up with her.

I'm going to win.


	21. Spinel

**AN: THANKS TO: sundragons9, fairytalec, Ryack, and any anon!**

* * *

_Spinel_

* * *

We head in the same direction, with them in front of me. Even though I am about ten yards away, the fact that I am behind them and neither one has looked over their shoulder in a good ten to fifteen minutes makes me want to shout at them that they're doing it wrong.

Does anyone know how to do this?

They stop, the little girl turning to the other one and saying something I can't hear until I get closer.

"Do you think we should head that way?" she points to the right.

The Girl on Fire looks down at her. She's so short—kind of petite and the younger girl looks frailer by comparison. "Well, what do you think Rue?"

Rue shrugs, smiling, "I was just wondering since it seems we're always going left."

It's true, they usually do.

"We can go whichever way—as long as we don't run into anyone, we're fine,"

"Then we should go right," she says, confidently.

She smiles as she continues to look down at the girl. I come up to the pair and she turns her head to face me, the top of her head coming to my collarbone. She is small and thin and nothing but her stare is hard.

I peer intently without thinking. They're gray—like stones.

She narrows them and tilts her head, and I note her sharp features. They rival her eyes in sharpness. Everything about her is sharp and small and nothing yet deadly.

I suddenly think of Clove's knives and something inside me twists.

"We should get moving," she says in a clipped tone, reaching for Rue's hand.

Walking from me, I stare and follow a second later, listening to their steps. All of us walk softly, treading carefully and avoiding twigs and loose brush. Neither speak, save for the occasional whisper that sounds like the wind rustling leaves. They clearly know how to blend with their environment.

No wonder they've been hard to track.

We come across a river, the water glistening in the overcast light. Kneeling before the river, Rue cups her hands in the water and I think she's about to drink but she only splashes her face. The other girl is grabbing a large canteen from a semi-worn orange backpack—ugh, it's so bright—and puts it in the water to fill. When there's enough, she takes out a small bottle containing iodine and puts a few drops in.

"We'll have to wait a while but it's better than nothing," she says to Rue.

Rue grins and stands, stretching her little skinny arms. One movement and she'd snap in two if someone squeezed hard enough.

"Do you think we should keep going this way?" Rue asks.

It takes me a moment to register that she's not talking to her but to me. Pretending I was thinking of less violent things, I answer with, "If you think that's best,"

"Don't you have anything to add?" her question is curious, eyes alight.

"I have input, I simply don't share,"

"Why not?"

I shrug noncommittally.

"You can tell us your opinions," she says after a moment. She steps back when I look at her, as though I'd snap. Turning my eyes from her, I look at the girl still kneeling by the bank, looking at the water, crouched like she's waiting for something, or someone.

"Yes, but I don't have very good ones," I tell her.

"That would be a first," she says before Rue can speaks; she stands to her full height and slings the backpack on, the sound of the canteen sloshing its content in the pack the only audible noise she makes as she begins to walk away. Rue jogs after her, sticking close to her side and reaching for her hand.

My brows narrow and I run after them, this time coming to her right, Rue on the other side, "Did you take an extra dose of bitchy today?"

"No, I am like this all the time," she replies, eyes straight ahead.

I scoff, "Yeah, obviously," She is usually beyond irritable except at Rue, "But you're even worse today,"

"What's it to you how my attitude is?"

"Nothing,"

"Then why are you asking about it?"

"The least you can do is be cooperative,"

She barks a humorless laugh, "I _have_ been cooperative, in case you haven't noticed,"

"You could have fooled me—acting like you have a stick up your ass—"

She glares at me, "Will you leave me alone?"

"You've been like this all day—it's a little annoying,"

"'A little annoying?'" she cries out incredulously, "I am _beyond_ annoyed! It's been two days and you're still hanging around us,"

My hand goes to my chest, looking mortally wounded, "I am _so_ sorry for saving your life—next time that happens, please tell me to go the other way and I'll leave,"

She lets out an irritated groan, "You're such an ass,"

"_That_ is a pure given; you being a bitch, I think, isn't completely intentional,"

"What do you mean by that?" her eyes narrow at me.

"Oh, please, anyone who saw the Reaping can tell you're not completely heartless."

"Excuse me? Who the hell are you to tell me how I am?"

"You're not hard to figure out," I tell her, lying through my teeth. Her jaw clenches, ignoring me.

"You don't know anything about me," she murmurs.

"I know enough."

She stops, Rue tensing beside her and, before I can tell what's happening, a resounding slap is ringing through the trees. I feel the sting in my cheek but I'm more shocked that she slapped me that the sting feels more phantom-like.

"Ugh, you're so cruel! What are playing at?" she spits.

I roll my eyes, fighting back the urge to snap her neck, "Idiot—I'm not doing anything."

"Don't give me that," she yells, "Why are you here? What do you want?"

"You're acting like I'm plotting something; are you always so suspicious?"

"Yes, especially about people that will probably slit my throat in my sleep!"

"All this anger is because you miss your sister—calm the fuck down,"

She blinks before she huffs, "What do you know about family?"

I don't care how bitchy she is, how irritatingly calm she can be, how she acts like she's superior to me even though she is nothing compared to me; hell I don't even give a damn that she just smacked me on public television and I'm not murdering her for touching me—but the fact that she treats me like I'm inhuman does things to me all at once: a boiling rage, knots in the stomach, pounding heartbeats echoing in my skull.

"You think I don't have a family back home?" I ask her, my voice so low, it's dangerously soft and I want it to be louder but it comes out hoarse.

She suddenly moves in front of Rue, and her face remains impassive, "I didn't say that—"

"No, but you sure as hell implied it," I tell her, staring straight at her face, angular and unforgiving, "Look, I don't care what you think about me but I have family. Don't act like _you_ know _me_,"

She keeps staring and I return the glare, Rue shaking a little, unsure of the situation. Seeing her quake makes me instinctively want to soften but we were trained not to give in to children, never into children. But she suddenly seems to loosen, winding down and she breathes out, "Sorry."

I am startled by her apology but she walks on, pace fast.

Rue had let go of her during the argument. She licks her lips and turns to me, wringing her hands. She lets out a shaky breath, "I'm sorry about her. She just has rough days sometimes,"

I stare at the little girl, dark and timid, "It's fine,"

I touch my face, still burning from where the Girl on Fire left her mark. For a skinny little thing, she can sure hit.

I sigh. I was supposed to be more collected and calm than right now. It's what I'm trained to do—the only thing I managed to complete was not killing her right there for hitting me, the way we were taught to do on instinct. She is just so infuriating! We don't talk, barely look at each other, little to no interaction yet I always feel angry around her.

I refuse to think she makes me uncomfortable because of guilt.

A movement of white comes to my vision and Rue is holding a washcloth in her hands, offering it to me. She smiles tentatively.

I take the cloth, pressing the coolness to my cheek.

Rue beams, still a little wary but all shyness is gone. I find myself smiling back, falling even though I know I should stand. Children need to feel intimidated, need to understand they should accept the inevitable because that's the outcome for them—nothing else. But I'm at her level and she's pleased that I'm pleased. It's kind of… sweet.

She motions for us to walk together and I take her lead, both of us in step.

From the corner of my eye, I see her looking at us with a gaze that's off, like she's never seen us before.

I grin at her, rubbing it in, and she stomps away, leaving Rue with me. We both know I won't do anything.

I'm worried but I smile at the child anyway. And I wonder exactly how much she reminds the Girl on Fire of her sister.


	22. Citrine

**AN: THANKS TO: sundragons9, fairytalec, ooBatz16, and any anon!**

**The poll is still there by the way.**

* * *

_Citrine_

* * *

We settle in the blanket of the earth, moist from the dew that seeped in when night fell. The stars are obscured by the large canopy of trees above us, rustling gently from the occasional breeze or two. Rue sits at the foot of a large oak before rising to her feet and walking over to where she is. They chat a little bit before she turns and heads in my direction.

I glance at her as she sits down next to me, not too close but enough to speak. She smiles shyly, teeth bright against her dark skin. "Hi."

"Hello,"

"We think dinner will be ready soon,"

"Alright,"

"Katniss says we need more firewood though, can you help me?"

I rise to my feet, sighing a little. I know this is a test of my reliability. She still distrusts me and in some ways I cannot blame her. Rue seems to have grown a little closer to me, though I have been keeping my distance when I can since…it will be hard to do anything else when the time comes. She doesn't seem to mind it though—when I brush her off. The Girl on Fire is as much aloof as I can be at times, but she softens immediately when near Rue.

So maybe that's the other reason that I'm going with her—if I am left on my own, they don't know what I will do, but with Rue, I will be forced to stay put, in a sense, and I can protect her while Katniss keeps watch here.

"Don't go too far," she tells Rue.

"We won't," she hops on a log and jumps off, alternating between jogging and skipping a little. We don't go far and Rue gathers up the driest branches for tinder. She comes over and hands me a bunch, going back and gathering some more.

"Where should we head to next?"

"It doesn't matter to me," I tell her.

"We've been wandering for days; do you think the tributes are going down any?"

"I doubt it," I answer honestly, "We haven't seen them but there have been no cannon bombs,"

"True…" she drifts off, holding branches close to her little frame. She pushes dark curly hair away from her face and begins to the walk back.

She looks at me several times, as though she wants to make conversation but cannot think of anything to say. I don't try to urge her into speaking since there's no real need for it. I think she only talks when she's uncomfortable with the silence. So I try to be amiable without saying anything, and I think she can tell since the quiet isn't thick.

"We're back," she tells the girl, handing her the tinder. She takes them and sets them by the fire, and before I know it, she reaches to take mine even though I was only going to set them down. Her face looks surprised, as though she wasn't expecting to move toward me and solely did it by second nature. She recoils fast enough to make it look like she was doing something else. I continue to bend down and place them where Rue's are.

Rue and Katniss eat quietly, with my back to them, gnawing on a small wing of some sort of bird. I watch the distant darkness, looking for anyone that might come through the brush. In no time it gets so black none of us can see. We head further into the entrenched area of a tree, where Rue nestles into the side of her friend, breathing slowing down until it evens out.

She and I don't sleep, continuing to watch for shadows that move.

There's the occasional movement from her as she finds a comfortable spot. There's a lump digging into the small of my back and I move away from it, scooting to my left.

"Keep to your side," she hisses.

I glare at her, "I'm not doing it on purpose," I continue to move until I find a surface good enough for my back.

"Oh please,"

"Oh shut up,"

She shuts up with a huff. Pulling Rue close, we settle back into silence, discomfited and irritated but silence.

I glance at her in the bare light, features softened by the shadows and the moon's white glow. She continues to stare out. I settle into the hiding spot, looking up at the blackened canopy. My eyes flutter close though I have no intention of sleeping. I listen to her steady breathing, feeling the body heat radiate from her. I let out a deep breath quietly. We've nothing to speak of yet…

"Rue falls asleep easily," I murmur.

She doesn't say anything and I believe she is going to ignore me like usual—

"Yes… she does," she answers, "I don't know how she does it,"

"Probably because she's near you,"

I think I hear her smile rather than see it.

"She's more comfortable here hidden too,"

"Naturally," I reply, "Anyone with sense would be,"

"So you're comfortable here too?"

I wait. "In a sense; it doesn't make much difference to me."

"Why not?"

"I've had no need to hide,"

"Not all of us go rushing into things,"

"You did,"

"That's different," she says, voice a little harsh.

"Not too much," I say, voice a little soft.

We don't speak, wrapped in thoughts.

"Rue…is she much like your sister?"

"Very much," she answers, "She…only looks differently outwardly. Other than that, both are a lot alike,"

"I see…" I remember the Reaping, the little girl with bright blonde hair and white skin, being pulled back by her older, darker sister, screaming for her not to go. The two of them shattered the world with their bond.

"Why didn't you stay home?"

"Because this is what I've had to do,"

"What about your family?"

"This has always been what they trained me for," I tell her.

"We don't share that likeness,"

"I didn't expect us to,"

She leans further back, "You had the choice to wait,"

"I was ready for it now."

"So you don't regret anything?"

"No," I tell her, looking at her face. She had turned to look at me, "I don't."

She smiles with too many emotions, "Now that's only thing we have in common,"


	23. Lapis Lazuli

**AN: Thanks to: sundragons9, fairytalec, Natura Nature and any anon! Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuussssssssssyyyy. And, well, this one was difficult, like, legitimately the toughest so far.**

* * *

_Lapis Lazuli_

* * *

I find myself waking up to the dawn, her silhouette a blending of both dark and light against the brightening blue sky. I turn to my left to find Rue sleeping much closer to me than last night. She turns around, finding me awake and tells me that she's going to scout ahead.

I nod, watching her walk away. Rue stirs and rubs her eyes, letting out a sigh. She smiles at me sleepily, "Morning,"

"Morning," I reply.

"Where'd Katniss go?"

"She went off to scout the area."

"Has she slept yet?"

"I'm not sure," I tell her honestly. I remember the two of us looking outwards into darkness and it was so peaceful it was unnerving. We didn't talk for the remainder of the night—it didn't seem like either of us needed to; although her body had visibly relaxed, her fingers weaving through Rue's dark hair, with the occasional glance at me. She had laid her head and at the sound of her soft snores, I had gotten up and left, not glancing back though I had wanted to. The moon had suddenly looked deadlier.

I pull out the message that I had received in the middle of the night, staring intently at it.

_Keep up the good work._

After coming back, I had sat down and next thing I know I saw her in front of me. Funny, I don't remember sleeping.

Rue shuffles out of our hiding place, stretching limber arms. "Katniss!" she greets joyfully.

Katniss pats her head, smiling. When she turns to me her face is serious but doesn't seem to have the animosity that it usually has toward me. I blink at the lack of that feeling—it makes her face look less sharp somehow, more approachable. Don't know if I like it or not.

"I found a camp nearby," she says, "The people there have a lot of supplies."

"How much?" Rue asks.

"Almost the entire stash that was at the Cornucopia; it looks like they had rigged it with explosives too."

"How can you tell?"

I know—we were taught to think outside the box and it comes to me immediately, the rigged bombs beneath out feet when we entered the Arena so long ago. Although such weaponry was rare, Clove and I would've thought of this together. It has to be her, and possibly Marvel if they're still a…team.

Something tightens in me at those words. Why wouldn't she have looked for me?

"What do we plan to do?" I ask.

"We're going to go over there and set them off," she explains, "They won't have any supplies after that."

"We won't either," Rue pipes up.

"That's true," she says, touching the little girl's head, "We won't either. But, at this point, we need to make sure no one else does. Besides, we're alright," she adds, nudging Rue affectionately.

Rue and she walk ahead of me, looking around for materials they can use for their plan. I say theirs because I'm really just the muscle that carries the heavier branches and leaves to the piles. I do it silently, listening to the converse, her calm, steady voice contrasting with Rue's brighter one. I guess it's too silent because she comes over and pulls me aside.

"Don't betray us,"

"What?"

"I know that they're friends of yours but if you turn on us, I'll kill you,"

"Wouldn't you have killed me eventually?"

She says nothing, she just stares. She's close, head tilted back, and her breath hits the skin of my neck. The sunlight brightens her gray eyes, and her face is shadowed by the threat.

"Answer me," she murmurs, "Will you stay with us?"

Her eyes flicker to Rue for a fraction of a second, and I think of President Snow in that time too, his face white and solid in my memory.

"Yes,"

Skeptical but appeased, she leaves me.

We set the piles on fire when she leaves. It's been agreed that Katniss would be the one to set off the bombs, with her skill of the bow and that she is better at sneaking in the forest than I am. Rue and I set off the piles when we're sure it's time.

"I'm a little scared," whispers Rue.

"You'll be fine," I assure her.

"Don't you mean we'll be fine?"

"You and Katniss?"

"And you,"

My heart jumps a little at her concern. This isn't good. "Yeah, maybe,"

We're nearly done with the piles, coming to the end. Rue lets out a whistle with four notes, which she used back home. Katniss must not be nearby yet because the birds don't respond with hers, which is higher in pitch than Rue's.

But then there's a boy crashing through the forest and I swing out my sword, ready to fight. He scurries off, not looking back.

"Come back, you coward!"

Her voice rings out to me.

The stiletto slices the air, hitting the boy in the back of the neck and he falls. Rue gasps, grasping my arm tightly. I push her behind me, guarding her from who I know. Clove breaks through and her dark eyes reach mine, and they widen on her face.

"Cato…"

My heart freezes as my body sprints forward, tightly wound and sprung. She dodges my sword, slashing downward and it narrowly misses her thigh. She pulls into her jacket, knife glinting, her face contorting in rage and disgust.

Her knife slashes my cheek, unable to throw. She glares, shouting, "Why would you do this?"

My lips tighten, jaw locked and we dance around each other, each of us forgetting what we mean to one another. How I've known her for years, how I know her secrets, how she moves, how she thinks, how she laughs, how she's my best friend—the only friend I've ever had.

But she moves toward Rue—small, helpless and _hers_—that I don't hesitate anymore—my sword buries itself into her gut, her blood on my hands and my heart can't decide whether to stop or pulse itself into a heart attack. She slumps forward, her forehead pressed against my shoulder, the scent of dirt and sweat hitting my nostrils, but the one of death is overwhelming.

Blood spurts from her mouth, staining my clothes, soaking through. She breathes shallowly, swallowing the red. Her eyes stare at me blankly. She reaches for my cheek, fingers on the cut she left there, marking me forever with the fact that we never _really_ thought we'd hurt each other.

It just seemed so unfathomable.

I find myself merely looking down at her, lost in her eyes, dark, bottomless. Becoming emptier.

She says something so low I can't hear. Her eyes cloud, breath leaving her in a sigh.

I close her eyes, then I lay her body gently. Immediately, I get up, ignoring the way my hands shake, and take Rue by the hand, dragging her away. She lets out the whistle again and birds answer her call.

"Clove!" I hear behind me, and I have the stupid guilt that makes me look back. Marvel kneels at her side, cradling her head, shaking her and I swallow hard as I tear my eyes away, thinking of I should be holding her, how that should be me crying out her name, but I'm not. I never will be again.

I get Rue far away and it isn't until nightfall that we see her coming toward us. She stops, staring at me as Rue dashes forward, arms holding the Girl on Fire tightly. As she returns the embrace tenderly, sisterly, she looks back up after kissing Rue on the head.

We stare.

There aren't any words when we get ready to sleep. Rue slumbers between us, nestled in the comfort of our protection. But she finally turns my way again. I don't meet her eyes.

If I do, I don't know what might happen.

I might kill her. I might just stare back. I might actually break under her gaze.

Then, "Thank you, for saving her life."

My eyes have been staring at the moon, and I look down. I walk away where she can't see me, lost in thought, sick and tired suddenly. But that's only what I desperately want to do, and I can only do it in my head. If I leave, she'll doubt me, and she can't doubt me. Not yet.

But maybe I deserve this; I killed Peeta after all…

"Yeah…" My voice is hushed.

I lie down, staring at the sky. The Girl on Fire stares at me with eyes that remind me of home, quieter than the stars. Inside my head, I'm screaming. And, in the rampant noise, words come to my mind, unbidden.

_Keep up the good work._


	24. Malachite

**AN: THANKS TO: sundragons9, Lily-on-the-water, Leo, fairytalec, MorphlingInTheSoap, and any anon! I apologize sincerely! There's so much going on. I hope this is enjoyable! Like, I was all, "CATO, STOP IT, I _DID NOT_ PLAN OR AUTHORIZE YOU TO DO THIS." And then I found an AMAZING Catoniss drawing on deviantart (FF won't let me link, so go there and just put Catoniss in the search engine and it'll be the first image.)**

**I nearly _died_. I was gonna make this longer but, no, these people need to _breathe_ for now, my babies, 'cause when next chapter comes...**

* * *

_Malachite_

* * *

Rue is curled between us, breathing evenly; tonight, she faces me and an instinct I don't understand stirs inside me. She's just so little. She sleeps with the girl cuddled against her back, her braid a mess and her face at peace. She doesn't stay up late anymore to keep an eye on me. It's oddly disconcerting, in both good and bad ways.

I pry myself from Rue's grip on my sleeve, shuffling quietly out of our shelter. I walk toward the opening of a clearing, white light illuminating the surroundings. The moon isn't even large. The sound of my steps on the grass is comforting but something feels off when I get to the middle.

There's blood on the ground and I follow the trail, getting thicker as I go along.

I halt immediately when I see who it is: Clove hangs limply in Marvel's arms, and he's crying with tightly shut eyes. Hers are dark and wide open, glazed. She suddenly turns to me and lets out a scream filled with betrayal and rage—

I jolt out of sleep, cold sweat on my brow. The yell is caught in my throat. I wait until it dies away to let out a breath. Carefully, not disturbing the two beside me, I curl my knees to my chest and rest my head on them. I breathe in and out. It was only a dream—nothing more than that.

But I know that's a lie because I've seen her in my mind so often now. It's been days since we encountered them. Marvel will be hunting with a vengeance now, I'm sure of it. When I saw them together, Clove dying in his arms and him just calling to her to stay, it's a vision that's been imprinted behind my eyelids. It's always them.

I know it's not just that I killed her—it was their brief interaction. Something about them just spoke volumes on intimacy. Like they had shared much together in the time I've been separated from them. He had brushed her hair, I remember, even though it was quick, and maybe out of panic, but that stayed with me.

I know I don't like it. While she and I didn't develop anything romantic, there's jealousy here anyway. I'll be the first to admit it; I don't feel it often, if at all, but when I do, I recognize it instantly—an inexplicable urge to be possessive over what I have. And what I should have had was his position—where she is my friend and part of my world and I'm holding her close because, damn it, that's what I was always supposed to do.

Because, in my mind, when the end came, I would be there until she was completely gone, to honor her memory; because, in the end, we were together, and we were friends, despite what we tried not to do and all the rest.

And he got to do it.

The sun breaks through clouds. I look up to watch it rise, golden and serene. Fucking sun is mocking me.

I glance at the girl, with her messy braid and dark skin, chest rising and falling. It would be easy to kill her now. Both of them, though it would prove merciful and less of a challenge, I want to do it, without thinking, without remembering. Because what are they to me? Everyone has to die at some point, especially here. Clove eventually had to go, too, now far beyond my reach and for what?

Because I owe the leader of my nation loyalty, and in turn, will provide my family stability?

Because I promised a boy who was dead to begin with, caught on love and willing to give his life for it?

Because of a girl who confuses and angers me all the time, yet there's something about her that pulls me forward, and it's dangerous and stupid but _there _and I don't want it to be?

It's too much.

I don't notice my hands are in my hair until I hear them moving. I compose myself, staring out. Rue greets me as usual and I return it. She follows only a few seconds after, inspecting the outside. We leave our spot and I look around. Rue says she'll be right back, and there's no need to ask why so we only wait, the girl telling her to be careful.

I glance at her, to my left. Though she's petite compared to me, she stands tall. She pulls her arms above her head, breathing. Her mood is calm, almost peaceful. I don't know why since I've never seen it before. Then she drags her fingers through her hair, tugging out the braid and it falls out in black waves. It's so _private_, yet open, that I almost look away, but I keep my gaze on her. Her hair is surprisingly thick; darker in the sun if that's possible, even when light makes it dully shine. She combs it out with thin fingers, and I'm reminded of her bow, like she's a living weapon and I'm the only one who sees it.

A chill runs through me, but nothing about is negative.

She begins to braid it back again when her eyes meet mine. She draws away a little, pulling her hair to her chest, self-conscious. "What?"

"Nothing," I answer, voice hoarse. My gaze drifts to the forest floor. She doesn't move, doesn't continue with her hair. Her eyes just stay on me and I'm tempted to look back up. I lift my head up to tilt it in Rue's direction. Where is she anyway?

This causes my heart to speed up, from wondering where Rue is and how she's affecting me. The world is watching our vulnerability and I find myself hoping no one notices. Even if it will help with getting sympathies, I don't want it like this.

But then, too, these are the Hunger Games, a place where everything is real yet staged. Maybe they'll believe that I'm truly trying to get her to lower her guard down. It's what I've been doing since the very beginning.

Footsteps break me from thought. I look down at her. She's not close to me but it's the nearest we've been together since she slapped me. There's nothing in her now that says she wants to fight. She cranes her neck to stare at me and I'm suddenly confused about her face. How can something so sharp in every way just suddenly melt into softness?

Annoyed at myself, I say, "Can I help you?"

She doesn't attack or fall for it. Instead, her hand touches my arm and warmth is burning through the material, touching my skin.

"I'm sorry,"

It's a whisper, too quiet but I catch it. I know what she's talking about, not answering. There's a lot I want to say, everything a blur of emotions. I simply ask, in a hushed voice I never thought I could do, "Why?"

"Because…" she breathes out, "I know I caused it."

"It was bound to happen,"

"Yes, but—"

"It's fine."

"Death is never fine," she placates, and her touch becomes a reassuring squeeze.

It's too much. With purpose, I tell her, "You wouldn't pity me if you knew all about me."

Her brows furrow. She wants to ask but there's this glint in her eyes, beneath the gray, that says she'd rather not know, despite the fact she should. God, she's so _close_…

"I'm back!"

Rue breaks the spell and I breathe out in sighs of relief, dizziness and loss. The gray eyes move from mine, warmth leaving. She has this look on her face that almost mirrors my own.

I must be imagining it.

"There you are!" Katniss says, "Where've you been?"

Rue blinks, tilting her head, bird-like, "I've only been gone a few minutes."

Really? It felt so much longer than that.

"We were getting worried," she replies, touching Rue's head softly.

"I was fine. I took a little longer because I was gathering these," Rue looks down, indicating the bundle of edible plants in her arms.

"Oh! These will be useful," she says, looking at Rue with what I can only call motherly pride. The little girl smiles at the compliment. Katniss takes it from Rue and goes to where the backpack is, moving everything around carefully.

Rue skips to stand in front of me, "Hi."

"Hello," I add, "Good work on the plants."

"Thanks," she says. She doesn't do anything else. There's this grin on her face but it's not quite a grin either. More of a…_smirk_?

I raise an eyebrow at her, "What?"

"So…what'd you and Katniss talk about?"

"Not much,"

"Oh, yeah?" she says this with this almost…mischievous tone to her voice. I never thought of children as menacing, or even devious. Rue is making me seriously rethink this.

"Yes," I answer evenly, "We didn't talk about anything."

"Are you sure?"

I arch my brow higher, "Rue…"

"Cato…" she mimics.

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing," She states quickly. Then she _twirls away_ like she didn't just leave me anxious, bemused, and perplexed all at once.

Rue, I've noticed, can be a little silly—which children sometimes are. But there's a practicality to her nature that I've seen. She wouldn't tease about something so serious. Would she? Do children do that? What did she even _see_? Was she actually watching us this whole time and neither of us noticed? And if a_ child _isassuming things, then the whole world will too. When I looked upon the Girl on Fire as a challenge, I knew she would be one in a fight, but this… this is a whole new challenge I was not expecting, that no amount of training has ever prepared me for. It's new, strange, even something to truly fear.

Peeta flickers briefly across my mind, alive in death.

I find myself caught in feelings of inadequacy, with dread sliming itself over it.

"Cato, we're leaving," announces Katniss.

Meeting her eyes briefly, I nod. Trying not to think of how she said my name. The simple fact she did made my heart thud.


	25. Amber

**AN: THANKS TO: sundragons9, Katniss'sFlame, fairytalec, Guest, and any other anon! Y'ALL READY FOR DIS OMG I AM SO READY HOLY CRAP WE'RE GETTING NEAR THE END OF SOMETHIN' MAYBE I DUNNO SO MUCH FEELS FOR THIS PAIRING AJSKNKLSI;NVK**

* * *

_Amber_

* * *

We found ourselves at the base of a waterfall, sloshing the rocks. None of us have seen such a thing so we stand for a few moments, gazing up, in awe of its height. Listening. Rue hops upon the rocks, heading over to stand beneath the water. She reaches out, smiling as it splashes her hand. Katniss joins her shortly after, daintily stepping on them to avoid slipping.

She turns around once she gets to Rue, who is now wading in the shallow river, and begins staring at me expectantly. I continue to stand, just wanting to watch them from a distance.

She motions me forward.

"I have to keep watch,"

She rolls her eyes; I roll them back.

After Rue has enough, she comes back, neatly stepping on the stones. Grinning up at me, we wait for her. She continues to stare up, face expressionless. Returning carefully, she's close until her foot slips—

I rush out, catching her in my arms. I right her immediately, steading her by the shoulders. As a precaution, I take her elbow and guide her back. Though we both know she's capable herself, I do it anyway and, shockingly, she doesn't reprimand me.

Rue takes Katniss' arm then glances at me with a smile. I ignore her.

As we walk away, Rue whirls around to give the waterfall one last look. She grins, "Hey, it's there again!"

She and I turn to find the rainbow, which is why Rue wanted to go there to begin with.

"It's really pretty," she says.

"Yeah," I answer, not giving her any attention.

It's confusing to be around her.

On the one hand, I have to kill her, eventually; but then on the other…

When did I lose so much focus?

I pride myself on not giving in to temptations or going for simpler routes, preferring challenges that make me centered. Now everything I seem to know about the world and myself is in question.

I came here knowing who I was.

I was ready, with expectations, with plans, goals.

Ready to win.

Now I can't recognize myself—this stranger that is similar to me but altogether different.

This someone who is softer, kinder, less angry at things in general; Rue I can understand getting under my skin—she's a sweet kid; it's rather hard not to like her.

The other girl is someone I never thought would burrow her way into me.

Rue nibbles on some crackers ahead of us, with her and me keeping an eye from behind. Her bow is always ready and I hold my sword every second of the day. It's quiet but not so much it's menacing.

"How many do you think there are left?"

"Not including us," I tell her, "There's Marvel, the boy from 11, and that redhead,"

"Foxface,"

"Her name is Foxface?"

"No," she answers, a little embarrassed, "But she looks sort of vulpine,"

The only feature I noticed about her was the red hair, but I guess she could have that feature. "I honestly can't remember."

"Well, it's just how I remember her,"

"How would you remember me?" I tease, curious.

"The asshole,"

"Thanks,"

She laughs, brushing her hair back.

I smile.

"I would just call you Cato,"

"Nothing else, huh?"

"No, I knew your name."

Inwardly, I feel too many things. Staring out at my left, I watch for any sign of tributes while she watches ahead.

"How did you call me?"

"Fire Girl,"

"Fire Girl?"

"Girl on Fire, same thing," I answer, "It's how lots of other people refer to you, right?"

"Yes," she says, and it sounds like she'll say more but doesn't. Smart girl.

I bring the subject back, not wanting to think about her and names. "Finding the boy from 11 will be hard,"

"Thresh is strong,"

Neither of us says how he and Rue know each other; it would devastate her. I look on, watching her inspect plants, smiling, maybe humming.

"And if it's the three of us?"

Our eyes meet and we both question everything. I don't want to tell her that it'll be decided when it happens, though I'm tempted to.

There's too much on the line for all of us. This is why I didn't want to get close to anyone—nothing good would come out of alliances, I knew that; and now I find myself getting attached to them, dangerous ground.

"I should go," I whisper.

She blinks, surprised, "Go? You mean, leave,"

"It'd be for the best,"

She doesn't say anything for a few moments, though she stops, face downward. "Would it really be?"

"You know we can't be friends,"

She looks up then, gray eyes boring into mine. "You're right,"

For some reason, I want to lighten the mood, joke with her. But I know it wouldn't dampen the inevitable. Instead I turn on my heel, preparing myself for the two of us to be enemies once more. We don't tell each other to be careful—enemies don't do that.

I know Snow is watching, wondering about my plan. If he asks, I'll tell him it's part of the plan—it may as well be. I have managed to lower her guard, despite her strengths and walls. The next time we meet she'll be hesitant and I can kill her before she even realizes my intention. It'll be easy…

"Cato,"

I pause, recognizing the voice; the cameras must be off me now.

"Yes, President Snow?"

"You left the girl,"

"Yes," I explain to him the rationalizations I had in my head. He looks both pleased and contemplative.

"My boy," he says, "You haven't fallen in love with her, have you?"

I'm shocked, body stock-still. "No, no, I haven't,"

He chuckles. "I believe you. If you were, you would've stayed with her."

"I would, sir?"

"Of course," he says, thoughtfully stroking his beard, "To protect her. You left, so you value victory more than her. You're doing well, Cato. But, remember—improvise if something goes awry."

"Sir?"

"You're in the Hunger Games, Cato; nothing goes as planned."

His hologram flickers to nothingness. I walk along for a while, thinking of what he said. Everything whirls in my head, leaving Rue and she far behind.

The sunset captures my attention. I haven't thought of anything all day except Snow and the others. I rest beneath a tree. We must be pretty distant by now.

Is Rue asleep? She must be—it's late at night. The sky isn't too visible past the leaves, leaving everything dark. I sigh, sit up, and brush back my hair. It got longer. Grunting, I lean back, knocking my head too hard. The quiet is different with no one else. I realize I haven't been alone in weeks. It's a bit of a relief, even though it digs into me more than I like.

I wonder if she's awake.

It bothers me that I think of her. She slips in and out of my mind, with Peeta drawing it to a close only to have her return. The night gives me a restless sleep, as shadows weave around, making me sightless.

The sun breaks the night with gold.

I only got a few hours of rest. Rubbing my eyes, I stand and continue randomly before aiming to the left. Not sure why.

By late morning, I wonder where everyone really is. The redhead—or Foxface, as she calls her—is nowhere to be found still; neither is the boy from 11. Not a soul anywhere. President Snow may be behind this although I doubt it. Despite our agreement, I am not completely out of the Games. But it doesn't matter or worry me—I'm going to win this. It's what's going to happen, what was always supposed to happen.

_Nothing goes as planned. _

Why would he tell me that?

Is it a meaning, a precaution?

The riots may still be happening, leaving our nation torn. Has it reached my family yet? We are the district where Peacekeepers are trained, so they must be busy. The outer districts, mainly 11 and 12, are too far yet to get involved but they might be dealing with it, and, if not, heard of it.

_You have to protect her._

Peeta's voice bluntly shocks me. I shake my head.

But it's as President Snow said too—nothing goes as planned. It's true.

So much has happened in these few weeks, coming almost to a month or so. My plans collided with someone else's and then another and now everything is caught together, leaving me in no more of a position than a soldier to carry out the orders of a superior, or a toy to play with…

What does he mean to say—?

My train of thought doesn't finish. A long slash of wood spins in front of me, digging itself into a tree; turning to my left, sword in hand, I raise it to block the smaller one that slashes downward. Marvel snarls, pulling back, rushing forward.

I crash through the forest, luring Marvel away from where I left the girls. He comes at me on fast feet, shouting my name in rage. I continue running for as long as I can keep him going. I hear a rushing noise.

Jumping to the right, I evade; the spear is just barely in the spot I was in. My sword moves down in a blunt stroke as he comes up behind me. The weapons clang, birds crying out. I spin on my heel, the one of my raised leg kicking him squarely in the head.

He grunts, pushing himself upward, "You fucking traitor!"

Ignoring the jab, I rush the pointed tip of my weapon towards his stomach.

Marvel rolls backwards, landing on his feet. My sword hits dirt. Slashing at me, I block the movement.

"Why did you leave us?"

"You never came to look for me either," I shout.

"At least we stayed together—you joined the enemy," he yells, his sword removing the bark off a tree behind me, "You're probably fucking the whore too,"

A surge of anger washes over me, blinding me. My sword comes back red, his shoulder dripping blood. He doesn't even grip it. We clash again, parrying blow for blow.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Says the guy that let Clove die!"

"_You shut up!_"

His sword grazes me cheek, the cut burning.

"You left her!" he yells, "Do you know how much it hurt to see her miss you?"

Dodging his sword, my back is pressed into a tree.

"You worthless piece of shit!"

He loved her.

The realization is so quick; jarring me, the weapon narrowly misses where my head was. Ducking down, I tumble forward twice then spin, dirt flying up, and I slash into the muscle of his calf.

He yells, clutching the injured leg.

Then, I hear it: Rue's four-note whistle.

They're too close.

"_Katniss!_"

Rue's cry sends chills down my spine.

Without hesitation, I turn on him and plunge my sword deeply into his gut. Blood pours from his mouth, same as Clove. He slumps forward, still. I run in their direction, whistling the four notes. Mockingjays answer, leading me to them.

The sight before me numbs my mind, even as I keep going: Rue is trapped beneath a net, the girl protecting her from a large ferocious beast, pale fur shining in the sunlight.

I reach them quickly, sword digging into its skin. It howls in pain and turns on me, with bright blue eyes beneath the yellow hair—

—_Glimmer?_—

"Cato!" she shouts, breaking my shock and the sword swings on its own, slashing the throat. It roars, gurgling. The blood mats its fur, writhing until it becomes completely still.

I rush over to where the girls are, Katniss detangling Rue from the net. I cut through with my sword. Rue pants hard, lunging toward both of us.

"I was so scared!" she cries, tears streaming down.

"Shh, you're safe now," Katniss murmurs.

My hand instinctively goes to Rue's head, stroking it to calm her down.

"Rue, sweetheart," she murmurs, "We need to leave, now,"

Shaking between us, we pull her up. I move to gather Rue on my back, Katniss staring at me intensely. I know we're both thinking the same thing, who knows what else is here—

Rue screams, pointing—

I turn, Marvel bleeding and covered in dirt—

No, how, I _killed_ him—

He lunges forward and throws—

—an arrow digs deeply into his chest, beneath my sword that sticks out of his throat.

His head lolls, the neck seeming to tear off.

Guilt and nausea suddenly surge with a vengeance so I turn to cover Rue so she won't see—

…and she's beneath me, at my feet.

The spear sticks out of her stomach.

Katniss kneels beside her, voice breaking, even if she's not saying words. I fall to my knees, staring at her small frame. Gently, I pull out the spear—

"Don't do that!" she hisses, "She'll bleed out and…"

"Katniss…" Rue says her name first.

We look at her together. I lick my dry lips, heart pounding. This is the longest I've stared at her. I notice flecks of gold in soft dark eyes, a beautiful shade of amber.

She coughs, blood spurting out a bit. I wipe it off her blanching face, Katniss cradling her head. She smiles.

"I'm glad…you're both here,"

A dead weight sinks into me as Katniss begins to weep.

"You're going to be alright," she says to Rue, "You're going to…"

Rue closes her eyes for brief second before looking at her, reaching for my hand. I take it. "Can you sing? I…want a song,"

"Okay…"

And then…_magic_.

Beauty pours from her mouth, lush and full, sad and frail. Like the sky broke and gave away something special. It's a song, a lullaby, about sleeping in meadows, with soft green pillows, where daisies guard beautiful things—what else would they protect?

She sings with this tenderness that astounds me, soft and protective. Her voice is haunting, angelic. It radiates love in every note, even when her singing becomes a murmured lilt. She doesn't stop until it's raspy.

Rue falls asleep peacefully.

Her hand still grips mine. I give it a squeeze, feeling numb; this must be grief.

Weeping openly, her breathing shallow, I see a very broken, very sensitive girl where the blazon one I'm so used to was. A girl that feels so deeply that she has to keep herself tightly bound because, if she doesn't, the world will enjoy breaking her apart. It's never happier than when it takes down heavenlier things.

I don't know why I think these things, or phrase them this way, or why I'm still here, or anything else.

All I'm aware of is reaching for her and she falls into me, crying, and I don't hush her, letting her be open.

"Does it get easier?" her question's a choke, suffocated into my neck.

"What does?"

"Killing people…"

"Only if you don't want to be human," I whisper into her hair.

She sobs for her sister.

I hold her tighter to me as she clings.

No wonder Peeta loved her.


	26. Cat's Eye

**AN: THANKS TO: ClimbingUpTheWalls, sundragons9, White Thorns, anyone who has added/reviewed before and any anon! So glad that some of you are still enjoying this story—it really means a lot to me to put names down. *kisses***

* * *

_Cat's Eye_

* * *

I held her as she wept.

When she was done she stood, broken and numb. She gathered flowers and laid them around Rue's body, taking great and gentle care as she wove them together. I watched her give Rue a proper burial, unsure of what to do, but, also, this is what she herself should do alone.

Once she was done, we looked at the little girl, faint sunlight playing on her face.

You wouldn't think she was dead at all.

Katniss was reluctant to leave but we wanted this image imprinted in our minds instead, before they came to collect Rue's body.

It was hours before we stopped to rest somewhere; the moon had come out but she wanted to keep going. There was an emptiness in her eyes that disturbed me. I reached for her shoulder, and she let me. I was both reluctant and hesitant to offer her the initial comfort I gave before. Where she was comfortable nestled into me.

But she's next to me now, close, no longer another person between us, yet the small space never felt emptier.

I move forward quietly, cautiously. She still hasn't fallen asleep, so I want her to be aware of what I'm doing. She'll feel more at ease.

She inches closer, the distance shut. Her forehead brushes my chin.

There's a quiet and deep sigh escaping her. She turns her head, hiding half of her face. She shuts her eyes before slowly opening them, one eye staring at me, bleak and reaching for something at the same time. It's sad and beautiful.

She reminds me of home.

Where everything is superficial, pretending to be fine, but deep down something isn't.

Something isn't fine…

"Cato,"

"Yes?"

"Do you…?" she murmurs, suddenly quiet. Then she says, "I miss her."

I pull her nearer, "I miss her too."

She snuggles into me, making me wonder why she does and why my heart beats too fast. She's soft and warm, despite her thinness and she curves into me in a way that feels so right it's disturbing.

I remember her singing—beautiful music filling the air as Rue died between us.

This is how Peeta fell in love but it can't be the only reason why.

There's still so much I don't know about her, her past, her likes and dislikes, anything. But, somehow, I feel this is enough for now. Even though it'll never be enough and it shouldn't be.

I don't hate her.

I don't love her either.

I don't think…

There's only one way to know for sure.

But it's stupid.

Because despite what I might be developing or already feel, it has to reciprocated.

It's the way most things work, right?

It's as Peeta said—her voice draws people in. There are probably only a handful of people who could say it wasn't amazing to listen to, remarkable and true.

Yet I go in, knowing our world is watching; Katniss' face is still, eyes closed. She's beginning to fall asleep, because her mouth parts softly…

My lips brush her forehead instead, not wanting to break the few fragile things between us left.

I look into gray, surrounded by warm brown skin and thick black hair.

I hover, lost, unsure.

She buries into me, sighing.

I regret not going for the goal—I've always gone for challenges.

And there she was, waiting to be tested, and I couldn't do it.

She is grieving and so am I.

Despite what President Snow told me to do, everything must be delicately stepped on. One wrong move could be seen as betrayal.

_You haven't fallen in love with her, have you?_

But how could I be in love with her?

We were warned in the Academy of those things. How our bodies run deeper than we could possibly know. It's why physical contact was not encouraged. We may not have had much back home involving the earth but we had science—and our brains are this interconnected world where everything plays a part, from something as lost as a memory to as simple as a touch, bodies can remember. We had to know this manmade magic. It's partly how we're so good at understanding people and winning, not just skill with weapons alone.

So, it could be because she is the only girl I've ever been near in this way. I barely know her—we've only known each other these past few weeks, which are quickly going down in number. Games never last long, the Capitol gets too bored. That must be why that monster showed up. She and I need to talk about that in the morning.

But I can't deny that, maybe… I have been looking at her since before then: her sacrifice for her sister, her speech in the interview, her body clothed in black as flames flickered behind her.

I've lost so much because of her too. This forged alliance caused me to lose the closest person I had to a friend of many years. And I killed Peeta, who she would never forgive me for. I only know his side of the story, but she and he looked remarkably close. He loved her, and she never really refused his declaration…

It seems too fast, too sudden, and too sad.

She's suddenly heavy in my arms, a dead weight that I can't seem to be rid of. I pull her closer anyway because I don't want to.

I'm becoming a fool and I can't bring myself to care.

I fall asleep with my face buried in her hair.

When the sun comes up, she nudges me as she leaves my embrace.

"Hey, get up," she whispers.

I do as she says. We rise and look around.

"Which way should we go?" she asks.

"Left," I answer.

She smiles, a little sadly, "Left it is."

For the first hour or so we're both quiet, lost in thought, too used to Rue's chatter.

"Thresh and Foxface are still out there," she says.

"Maybe they'll kill each other first,"

"No," she replies, "Thresh would go after the ones that matter—you and me; and Foxface is too clever to get caught."

"That's true,"

It dawns on me. She hasn't mentioned Peeta. At all. Not in the past few times we've talked of tributes.

My heart pounds loudly in my ears, suddenly feeling sick. I glance at her, her gray eyes staring straight ahead, bow slightly shining.

Does she know? Has she assumed his death? Why wouldn't she be angry with me? Why would she have let me stay around her for so long if she knows? Doesn't she love him?

Or does she care for me more?

I don't know.

But as I stare at her, the desire to tell the truth swells up inside me so quickly and painfully I find my throat unable to swallow.

"Cato," she says, face concerned, "You alright?"

"I'm fine," I lie.

"You don't look it," she says, "Maybe you should sit down,"

"I said I'm fine, Katniss,"

"Then prove it by not looking sick." She answers, hand on her hip.

I'm cut off by the sound of cannons. Two shots.

We're both silent. Listening. Waiting.

"We are pleased to inform you," booms a voice, "that Katniss of District 12 and Cato of District 2 are the final tributes of the 74th Annual Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor!"

Quiet.

The thunder of people outside finds my ears, even though I know I can't really hear the crowd.

This is it.

This is the end.

I either kill her or allow her to kill me.

Neither option is pleasing for anyone.

She looks at me, face a mask of shock.

She wasn't expecting it and neither was I.

What is President Snow doing? It's as Katniss said earlier about what the remaining tributes would do. So the only plausible explanation would be that he removed them from the Games himself. There are plenty of ways to do it.

It's only me and her.

She doesn't point her weapon at me. Something in her eyes tells me she won't, she'll refuse to.

I give her a reason, "I killed Peeta."

She blinks, surprised, by my admittance or breaking the silence I don't know.

"I killed him."

"But…he was part of your group."

"It's the way the Hunger Games are, Katniss. You know that."

"I do."

Marvel and Clove come to mind. I brush them away.

I make my voice harsh, uncaring, "He was stupid for not killing me before he had the chance. He could have and he didn't. That was his mistake. You knew that, eventually, I would have to kill you."

"I know that…" she murmurs, not getting angry.

Why isn't she getting ready to kill me? I push her over the edge, "He loved you, you know."

"Yes, I do." She doesn't fall. "And I knew you killed him."

This time I'm surprised. "How?"

"Who else would?" she murmurs, face lowered.

I've had it, the confusion, her lack of anger, Peeta's nobleness, everything, "I _killed_ him, Katniss! You love him, don't you?"

She looks me squarely in the eyes. "No."

It's entirely honest.

I'm floored.

"What?"

"No, I don't. Aside from spending time at the Center, I barely knew him," she says, looking away, up at the Mockingjays, "He saved my life, once, when I was little, and he fed me. That was the only way I knew him—as kind and gentle, but I didn't love him…not the way he loved me."

"He sacrificed himself for you again," It kills me to say it.

Tears come down her face, "I know—he's that kind of person…and I'm sorry that I couldn't love him back the way he wanted." Her eyes wander back to mine and the tenderness aimed at me causes me to take a step back, holding onto my sword for support.

Peeta really was too good, too pure. He loved and helped the wrong people.

And so does she.

I turn to stare at the sky, "I will be your victor! Victors are allowed many things. But I am making a request. My district will have food. I want the Girl on Fire."

I turn to her again, watching her face crumble into emotions that move so fast it's dizzying. She doesn't understand but she will.

"Cato, this is not usually allowed." rings the voice of President Snow.

"I understand that," I say, keeping my gaze focused on those piercing stones, "But I'm only asking for her."

There's silence that stretches to eternity.

President Snow agrees.

The sky falls, Katniss staring at me blankly. As the world breaks, we hear the din of people outside of it, the ones who controlled everything we did.

"You were working with him…"

I have to get her out, protect her somehow. There has to be a way. Victors can make requests if they're well-liked enough—it's not unheard of, however it _is_ an impossible idea, since President Snow can be unpredictable, as he proved today and many times before. But I give her a malicious grin, because the cameras still roll, to guard her and the promise made to Peeta.

I'll find a way for her to live, to escape, even if it kills me.

I don't love her, I don't think, as she reaches for my throat, seething with anger.

But I don't hate her either, as I move her hands away and press my mouth to hers; gentle enough to not scare her but hard enough to throw her off.

"Trust me," I breathe against her lips, which are more than I thought they'd be. It's funny, having this moment as I take her to the unknown. I don't know what will happen to us.

She doesn't answer. But she doesn't push me away.

She trusts me.

I know the cameras are gone now, so I pull her tight, her body unresponsive. Then her hands are on my back.

For now, it's enough.


	27. Alexandrite

**AN: THANKS TO: sundragons9, fairytalec, Guest, Chanti-Chantale, 3-left-turns, Everybody's Changing, any who have reviewed/followed before and any anon! I apologize for taking so long—I've been working on my health and this is the l****ongest chapter so far and definitely was the hardest to do.****  
Everyone here seems… wow, they're weird. ****Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_Alexandrite_

* * *

I keep my eyes straight ahead, focused on the back of the guards. We are being led somewhere and while I have an uneasy feeling, I keep it in the back of my mind, trying to keep most thoughts at bay that might distract.

Well, almost all of them.

I glance briefly at the girl to my left, braid bouncing gently as she walks. Discreetly, I brush my fingers against hers. She turns her head slightly to me in surprise; I smile without keeping my gaze off the men. She doesn't return it but her body gets close enough to feel her shoulder against my upper arm.

We stop at a room, the door sliding open.

"President Snow will be here shortly," one of them says. Then they leave.

Katniss stands rigidly, arms folded across her chest. I walk over to her and place my hand on her shoulder. She turns to face me quietly, expression one of question.

"Tell me, what's going on?"

I sigh. "It's complicated."

"Then give me the short version,"

"It won't cover everything,"

"It'll be a start,"

So I tell her. About my aspiration to become Victor, Peeta's noble sacrifice and how he grew into a friend, about Snow and his deal with me, about how she and Rue began to mean more to me, how, in the end, I want to protect her. It comes out in a jumbled mess, eloquence gone; there's a nervous edge to my voice I hope she doesn't hear, even if it would make it more genuine. My heart races as everything spills out, leaving me drained but weightless by the end.

She doesn't say a word, her expression completely blank.

When I'm done, I look at the ground then back up.

She slaps me across the face.

"I deserve that,"

"You're damn right you do," she hisses, eyes full of anger, "We trusted you,"

"And I grew to trust you," I tell her, insistent, more earnest than I've been in my life, "I grew to care for you. You have to believe me,"

"Why?" she asks, voice low, "Why should I trust you?"

I'm shocked. "Why wouldn't you trust me by this point?"

"Didn't you just hear yourself?" she nearly shouts, "How do I know this isn't another part of your ploy?"

"Katniss— I— No, this isn't a ploy. I've risked too much for you."

She stares at me, her gray eyes deep, where the stone cries out, beseeching the question silently.

"Why would I risk my life for someone I don't love?"

I didn't mean to say it like that, and I'm sure she didn't either. Love is such a strong and dangerous word.

But, at the same time, she'll understand. She's done it before.

"How do you know if you'll die?" she whispers, turning away.

"How do you know I won't?"

Her head snaps forward, at my question or the door opening I'm not sure.

President Snow walks in, hands clasped behind his back. "Cato."

I nod.

"Miss Everdeen," he greets warmly, though I catch his eyes aren't.

She stiffens and I move in front of her, blocking her from view in hopes he'll pay attention to me, "President Snow, please, sir, I thought that this might be a more effective way—"

"No need to explain anything to me, Cato," he answers, waving his hand, "I understand perfectly."

"You do?"

"Yes. Clearly you have grown fond of Katniss Everdeen and it's reasonable to see why. You have nothing to worry about,"

That's what worries me. I nod and give him a polite grin. President Snow hasn't lasted this long as the leader of our country without having back-up plans and a mind for cunning. There's something going on and I realize that now. For the moment, I have to focus on guarding her with my life. In the Arena, she or I would've had to kill each other but, here, we can think, we can plan. We can find a way to keep her safe.

He motions for me to follow him into a corner of the room. I glance back at Katniss, her pose still unmoving, tense. She watches us closely, distrusting both of us, I think. But her gaze becomes less sharp when it's on me. I take comfort in that.

"I hope you understand that the riots are still continuing," he states in a hushed voice.

"Yes, I do, sir,"

"It would be a shame to lose you," he states, placing his hand on my shoulder, "You're quite the skilled fighter and adept at managing your surroundings."

"Thank you. But what would you have me do?"

"Little odd jobs here and there,"

"Such as?"

"I'm sure killing people will be simple enough,"

"It will be."

"Good. For the moment, however, you are free to stay here."

"Right," I tell him, "Thank you for your generosity."

Then he leaves.

I rush over to Katniss, her body frozen. I touch her face, bringing her back.

"What are we going to do?"

"We're going to lay low for now, until we're able to escape."

"I hope we have a plan soon,"

"It will be hard," I don't lie to her.

"I'm ready," she says. Then she looks up into my face.

Moments pass in silence, heavy, leading her to me, it seems, because she steps forward.

And her hand suddenly touches my cheek, softly pressing against where she slapped me. I can only stare at her, heart pounding until I don't think I can breathe. I'm feeling a little nervous and not from anything bad.

"I know you promised Peeta to help me…" says Katniss, breath quiet at the base of my neck.

"Yeah…"

She pulls away, leaving me cold. "If you didn't promise him, would you still have done it?"

The nervous feeling flies to my chest, gripping my throat and I can't swallow. My body is stock-still but it's never been more aware of anyone in its life. The world falls into the background and she's the only person I see. I find my head lowering, gray eyes coming closer, beckoning. My mouth touches hers. Then _heat_.

It radiates, pours into me, her tongue darting past my teeth. It's different from when I kissed her in the Arena, to silence her, to keep her from doing anything rash. There's nothing calm about this—my hands rove her waist, pulling her tightly into me, like I've done this a million times before even though I never have.

Her hand fists into my hair, and I hiss, nipping the side of her jaw. She gasps. I pull back, staring at her. There's a faint flush on her cheeks, looking a little surprised. Then she smiles, letting out a breath of air. I grin back, brushing her hair before I embrace her.

"I promise _you _I'll protect you," I promised Peeta, now her. I will. Or die trying.

"I don't know why you care so much,"

I pause, musing. "To be honest, I don't know either,"

She laughs, not the least bit angry by my bluntness. I think she appreciates honesty above most virtues, and I like her more for it, I realize.

"I don't know either, why I like you,"

"Oh, is that right?" I question lightly, I'm not offended at all.

"Yes," she replies, with her smile still there but this seriousness covers her eyes again. "You're…confusing."

I keep my hands at her shoulders. I feel the same way about her sometimes but… Why is it so hard to talk to her? I've seen her angry and upset and I am used to those, seen it every day of my life, from my father and mother, from the people living in my district. It's something I understand, hiding ferocity and unleashing it.

It's her…beautiful self I don't understand. Gentle, a caress of silk on bare skin, and I think of her softer moments—where she would stand near Rue, ever the protector, let the little girl cling to her when she was frightened in the middle of the night; her voice as she sings, an ethereal lilt that reached the sky, more effective than any Mockingjay.

This is the side I am falling in love with.

But I can't tell her that. While I may have declared that risks are involved with love (which doesn't have to be romantic), and we've kissed, with even President Snow insinuating it before us, I can't tell her I'm _falling in love_ with her. She might just be infatuated and it might be the same for me. They're different—love and infatuation, falling in love with a person and falling in love with an idea. Because she's not an idea—she's so much more than that.

But I take her hand, ignoring my inner conflict by rubbing small gentle circles onto the back of it with my thumb.

"I am going to get us out."

Her gaze is steel, and then it welds down. "I know."

She is now counting on me, depending on my strength to lead her out.

I can't fail.

I'd rather die than fail her.

I'm in too deep.

So I find myself staring up a cold white ceiling, lights harsh and bright. I sit up in the bed, propped on my elbows. I turn to stare at the door, which is opening. A woman walks in and smiles, carrying a tray, dressed in a fancy outfit that reminds me of a maid's garb.

"Hello, my name is Antonia."

I nod, wary. Something's off about her.

She sets the tray down on the nightstand by the bed, and excuses herself, but not before saying, "Please eat up,"

I watch her leave and look at the food. I prod it experimentally with a finger, aware there might be cameras somewhere. I turn toward it, not smelling anything unnatural but then some poisons are scentless. I take pretend to sip from the water, not letting it past my lips, though my dry mouth begs for it.

Perhaps a part of me desperately wants to believe that the Capitol isn't a terrible place. It's…almost like home to me, a home that I've always wanted to belong to. It means so much to me and it would pain me to find that everything is more illusory than Track Jacker venom.

I have to keep my guard up though because Katniss is a part of my world now, however intrusive, unexpected and sudden it was. She came in my dream last night, staring at the moon, like back in the Arena, but she was singing a mournful song, baying in the white glow around her. Despite the serenity of the scene, there was a loneliness that plagues my thoughts even now.

But in the midst of her song, calling out the stars, she turned to me and smiled beatifically, whispering my name and three words I couldn't catch. They fell mute, swallowed by the dark, and I couldn't even read the lips I wanted to claim with my own.

I get up, shaking my head, forgetting food and sleep, and dress. Rushing down the hall, I find her in her designated room. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and go up to her.

She smiles as she sees me. My heart does these flops that I can't explain.

"You're alright?" I ask.

"Yes," she answers, though her expression is bemused.

"Good,"

"Cato, is something wrong?"

"The sooner we get out of here the better." I really do mean just her. But I don't plan on telling her that—she'll refuse to leave otherwise; because it's the kind of person she is.

Or maybe I'm just competing with a dead guy, even if he is a friend.

I can't tell.

I lead her out into the hallway, pristinely white to the point it's sterile. We meet some guards downward and they address me.

"President Snow would like to have a word with you, Master Cato."

I am unaffected by the title aside form a little confused. Why would they call me that? "Alright, where is he."

They take us to where he is located and I enter the space, Katniss following until one of the guards holds up an arm.

"Only Master Cato,"

Katniss glares at them and huffs, "You're just going to keep me here?"

"Yes, President Snow requested _him_ specifically."

"If I remember correctly," she begins, narrowing her eyes, "the Victor requested _me_ specifically in exchange for his district to have their needs—where he goes, I go. I'm his."

_I'm his._

The words stir something in me, primal and possessive. She's mine. And I am hers, too.

Before they interrupt her or recover from her words, I intervene, "I am sure President Snow will not mind, and if he does, she can always take to another part of the vicinity."

They are quiet as they let her pass, her shoulder brushing my arm in the slightest of touches.

President Snow stands by a window, looking out at the expanse of the Capitol. I motion for Katniss to head to a private corner. I approach President Snow and wait for him to speak.

"We've received word that the districts are in an upscale peak of the war,"

"War?"

"The riots have escalated to that, my boy. We're going to need to round up full defenses to ward off the other districts."

I stare out the window, feeling Katniss' eyes on my back, "Which ones?"

"All, excluding 1 and 2,"

My home is always loyal; then I look down at the city, "Does the Capitol know?"

"Not the citizens. Best to leave them in the dark, as it is of no real worry. It's merely a whole populous of fools that believe they have a chance to avenge the death of a little girl and dozens of others,"

Rue. And hundreds mores from ages ago…

As I find myself staring out into the city, where I've always wanted to belong, I've realized that he and I are both the same kind of person and not.

Back before the Arena, I would have agreed with every word he said. I would have wanted nothing more than to help him in any way I can. In some ways, I still do. Because deep down is the Cato I still am and will be—ruthless and bloodthirsty, to the very end; because it's who I am and who I was raised to be.

However, now there are knots that coil tightly in the pit of my stomach, where everything churns in acid. Where my mind is uncomfortable with children dying, and my heart clenches at the thought of hurting people Katniss loves, and a little girl with long blonde hair comes to my mind's eye, thus I think of Rue.

And how he just mocked her memory in front of me.

His head is placed on a pike before I can even register what happened in my thoughts—

I'm thrown back, astounded by my disloyalty. Because I never thought I could conjure up such things about our leader.

But I did.

For Rue, and for the girl behind me whose stare continues to burn.

"You will help us of course," President Snow says.

"Of course, sir,"

"Very well. That is good to hear. That will be all, Cato. We will call you when we need you."

Katniss and I exit quietly, until we're back inside her room and I take her hand.

We have to leave now.

Though a plan would have been far more efficient and make me feel more prepared, Katniss suggested the idea of 'winging it.'

"We can't wing it," I murmur.

"Do we have much of a choice?"

I reckon she's correct. And she is. I sigh.

I've gone over countless ideas and strategies, both courtesy of the Academy and myself, relayed them to her, and none of them seem satisfactory at all. We've come to the conclusion that any attempt, even a well-organized one, is essentially useless when facing down an entire city full of deadly weapons and deadlier people. But, still, I like plans.

So, with no plan, we head to our respective rooms until night falls.

In the middle of it, the stars drowned out by the city lights, we make our escape.

Very, very fast.

Because people are still watching—not the world but the creators of it.

Alarms sound and ring in my head.

A guard comes up and points his gun at me. I punch him squarely in the gut, grab his gun and butt his head with the end of it. I grab her hand and she grips it tightly, both of us running out of the building and into the city streets.

Colors whir by, gawking, shouting.

We head into a darkened alleyway, black compared to the light pollution. She reaches for me, hand upon my chest.

"Cato, we have to keep going—"

"I know," then I shush her, pressing her face into my chest as guards run past, our bodies obscured too well in the dark. She pulls away, my hands sliding down her back; the act isn't sensuous but it's kind of hard not to think about touching her, even in the middle of all this chaos. She still comes to mind in every possible way.

We take one another's hand to not get lost. Carefully, we make our way through the city, avoiding the people.

President Snow must still not want the citizens to panic since there hasn't even been a remote flicker of our escape on the giant television screens or a wailing siren.

We don't make it much farther. People jump out from shadows and surround us.

I reach forward and deftly swing out one of their weapons, whacking one soldier in the side of the face. They don't fire at us and it confirms that we're wanted alive. Rushing out, I tackle a man to the ground and backflip to an upright position. Katniss, despite not having her signature weapon, dodges one other guard and knees him in the face by pulling down his head as he fell.

I drag her from the fallen bodies, telling she has to go on her own.

"No, I won't leave without you!"

"Katniss please, you have to make it out!"

"Cato— I— I can't—"

I hear footsteps and realize she would just be caught, even if she managed to get out it would've been inevitable. So kiss her again, putting in all the feeling I have for her into this one last kiss until I see her again. Because I don't know when that will be; and I want her to remember me, even if it's just physical, even if it's just subconscious.

The kiss was fast and we both whirl around to face down the enemy—the people I've strived to pleased—and we fought.

It was a valiant effort but just that—an effort.

We're dragged back to where President Snow meets us at the entrance, his eyes far colder than I've seen them.

"Take the girl,"

"No!" I shout, trying to reach for her as she reaches for me.

"Cato!"

"No, you can't—" I turn to Snow, pleading, "Don't hurt her! She has nothing to do with this,"

"She has everything to do with this, if you remember our agreement, my boy. She has become a symbol for the districts of Panem and anomaly for everything we hold dear here at the Capitol. She must be eliminated, as per our contract."

"Why? Why does she matter?" I ask, "How can one girl do so much damage?"

"How indeed…" he murmurs before kneeling in front of me, "Tell me, how did she damage you?"

I look away, knowing all the answers but giving in to them. It was supposed to be a simple mission—to kill this girl. But she wormed her way into me, beneath my skin and burrowing into every fiber, every cell.

"She didn't," I finally say.

"You shouldn't lie, Cato. She took everything from you—especially what you've wanted most, to be Victor."

But none of that matters now. All that matters is her safety. This confirms what Peeta said is true, the first boy to love her and see how special she is. She is important. Something will come out of her—whether it is good or bad is debatable.

For me, it'll always be good.

Even if it hurts.

"Please," I whisper, the word sounding broken. Pathetic. Lost.

"You will do as we agreed—you will be of use to us."

Everything I know about the Capitol…despite what's going on, I still don't want it to be a lie. How can I suddenly distrust everything I've ever wanted to be? Everything I've ever emulated and wanted to serve? It's like telling your parent how much you admire them only for them to cast you aside. I've had moments like that.

"Cato, your use in this war can still be of service,"

I look at him squarely in the eyes, and I wish I was staring into gray. "If I do this for you, will you promise not to hurt her?"

He smiles, and there's that scent again—of blood and roses, "I promise _I_ won't hurt her,"

He doesn't.

It's me he hurts.

I writhe and struggle, bounded by leather and hands to a white bed, everything too bright and stale to look at. Faces are covered in shadows by the intense light. I yell as they hold me down, though I promised to hold my end of the deal because, maybe, maybe, he won't hurt her and she'll be safe because I want her to be safe so, so much. And there's too much _pain_.

He's gone back on his word before but I have to try—stupidly trying to trust liars and snakes but trying. I don't know when I became this desperate to believe in the good of people and the honor of promises but here I am, feeling excruciating agony in the back of my head, in my arms, legs, everywhere in my body until I feel numb from fire, in my blood, flowing through the veins.

Lightning erupts into my head, seeing red, inhuman shrieks coming from my throat, harsh anger beneath the rough screams.

She has to be okay. She has to be.

I cry out louder, white blinding my vision until it's all I see. Orange dances in front of me, wispy, like smoke, flames with no heat, reminding me of Peeta. He gave everything up for her, too.

I drown in the sound of piercing cries I wish weren't mine—they sound so shrill and weak.

But she's worth it, the Girl on Fire...

I love her so, so much.


End file.
